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g  MoMILLAN  % 

I  SHAKESPEARE    LIKUAUV.  % 

M  I'KhSFXTKn   T*>   TIIK  W 

I  UNIVERSITY  OF  MICHKiAN,  | 

tt  JAMES  McMillan,  gj 

jjll  OF  DETROIT.  ^ 

w * 


^  .?  7  ^'  y 


A  NEW  VARIORUM  EDITION 


OF 


Shakespeare 


EDITED   BY 

HORACE   HOWARD    FURNESS 


VOL.    II 

Ma  c b e  t h 


PIIILADELPinA 
J.    B.    LIPPINCOTT   &   CO. 

LONDON  :  i6  SOUTHAMPTON  STRKKT,  STRAND. 


Entered  according  to  Act  of  Congress,  in  the  year  1873,  by 

H.    H.   FUR  NESS, 
In  the  Office  of  the  Librarian  of  Congress,  at  Washington. 


WEiiTCOTT  &  Thomson,  Lippincott's  Press, 

Skreotyptrs  and  Electrotyf^trs^  Fhilada.  Fkilada. 


PREFACE 


The  Preface  to  the  preceding  volume,  Romeo  and  yuliet^  set  forth 
so  fully  the  scope  and  plan  of  this  Edition  that  it  seems  needless 
to  re-state  them  here ;  and  yet,  as  these  volumes  are  intended  to  be  as 
far  as  possible  independent  and  complete  each  in  itself,  a  concise 
statement  of  the  rules  which  have  guided  the  Editor  may  be  not  unrea- 
sonably demanded. 

Although  in  the  main  the  plan  of  the  former  volume  has  been  ad- 
hered to  in  this,  yet  experience  has  suggested  certain  changes  which, 
without  at  all  affecting  its  general  character,  seemed  to  render  it  more 
complete. 

It  is  stated  in  the  Preface  to  Romeo  and  Juliet  that  the  Variorum 
of  182 1  has  been  taken  as  a  point  of  departure  to  the  extent  of 
admitting  into  the  present  edition  only  such  notes  from  it  as  had  been 
adopted  by  the  succeeding  editors,  together  with  all  the  original  notes 
of  those  editors  themselves.  This  limitation  has  been  in  the  present 
volume  wholly  disregarded.  The  Variorum  of  1821  here  has  its  posi- 
tion chronologically  among  the  rest,  and  although  it  has  '  a  station 
'in  the  file,  not  i'  the  worst  rank,'  yet  it  is  no  longer  the  starting- 
point  whence  Shakespearian  criticism  shall  begin,  as  though  all  criti- 
cism that  preceded  it  went  for  naught. 

Probably  no  Editors  of  Shakespeare  have  left  a  more  enduring  im- 
pression of  their  labours  than  Steevens  and  Malone,  not  because  of 
any  pre-eminent  ability  or  fitness  for  their  ofiice,  but  because  they 
were  so  early  in  the  field  that  they  were  able  to  glean  the  richest 
sheaves.  To  them,  therefore,  we  must  still  go  for  many  explanations 
and  illustrations  of  the  text.  But  there  were,  before  them,  other 
Editors  and  Commentators  whose  notes  they  overlooked,  or  per- 
chance silently  incorporated  with  their  own.  Heath  is  only  rarely 
quoted  by  the  Variorum  Editors,  although  his  eminence  as  a  scholar, 
whose  name  still  stands  high  at  home  and  abroad,  should  have  secured 
for  him  on  all  occasions  a  respectful  hearing.  His  Retnsal  of  Shake- 
speare's Text  shows  sound  wisdom  and  starts  many  shrewd  conjectures, 
and  had  it  been  issued  in  connection  with  the  Text,  would  undoubt- 
edly have  commanded  an  honourable  position.     Again,  in  Steevens's 


111 


IV  PREFACE, 

day  poor  Theobald  still  staggered  under  the  weight  of  Pope's  unjust 
and  jealous  *  Dunciad,'  and  was  therefore  contemned  by  the  Editor  of 
the  earlier  Variorums ;  and  Capell  had  no  friends  anywhere  among 
the  leading  literary  men  of  his  day.  It  was  such  omissions  as  these, 
and  others,  that  led  me,  although  at  the  cost  of  additional  labour,  to 
enlarge  the  rule  by  which  I  was  restricted  in  the  First  Volume,  and  to 
set  aside  the  Variorum  of  1821  as  the  starting-point  of  Shakespearian 
research. 

In  the  present  volume  will  be  found,  therefore,  such  notes  and  com- 
ments from  all  sources  as  I  have  deemed  worthy  of  preservation, 
either  for  the  purpose  of  elucidating  the  text,  or  as  illustrations  of  the 
history  of  Shakespearian  criticism. 

Let  it  be  distinctly  understood  that  the  notes  are  not  exact  reprints 
of  the  original,  but  have  been  condensed,  care  having  always  been 
taken  to  retain  as  far  as  possible  the  very  words  of  the  author ;  in 
some  cases  indeed,  such  as  in  Theobald's  notes,  and  Capell's,  I  have 
retained  the  spelling  even,  as  lending  a  certain  charm  to  the  quaintness 
of  the  expression. 

All  references  to  other  plays  of  Shakespeare  which  have  been  cited 
simply  to  show  a  repetition  of  the  same  word  are  omitted.  Mrs 
Clarke  has  done  that  office  for  us  once  and  for  ever.  But  where  there 
is  a  reference  to  a  similarity  of  thought,  a  peculiarity  of  construction 
or  expression,  there  the  case  is  very  different;  of  these  citations  there 
cannot  be  too  many.  All  references  to  Romeo  and  jFuliet  refer  to  the 
preceding  volume  of  this  edition ;  in  all  other  cases  I  have  adopted 
The  Globe  Edition^  which  every  student  undoubtedly  possesses,  as  a 
standard  authority  in  regard  to  Acts,  Scenes,  and  Lines.* 

In  the  Textual  notes  I  have  recorded  a  thorough  and  exact  colla- 
tion of  the  Four  Folios,  and  of  the  editions  enumerated  on  p.  xiii.  In 
regard  to  the  Folios  I  have  preferred  to  err  on  the  side  of  fulness ;  in 
regard  to  the  later  editions  I  have  exercised  my  discretion,  and  have 
not  recorded  minute  variations  in  punctuation  (as  the  use  of  a  colon 
instead  of  a  semicolon  or  the  like),  nor  in  cases  where  the  sense  can 
be  in  nowise  affected.  I  have  not  in  every  instance  noted  the  various 
spellings  of  the  word  weyward,  wayward,  weyard,  &c. ;  Theobald  was 
the  first  to  adopt  weird;  after  noting  his  emendation  once  or  twice,  I 
have  not  repeated  it  as  often  as  the  word  occurs.  I  am  not  so  rash  as 
to  as.sert  that  no  varietas  lectionis  has  escaped  me,  but  I  trust  that  no 
error  will  ever  be  found  in  the  various  readings  that  I  have  recorded. 


» In  Romeo  and  Juliet  all  references  were  made  to  The  Globe  Edition^  although  I 
forgot  to  mention  ii  in  the  Preface. 


PREFACE.  V 

The  present  Editor  and  all  future  Editors  will  always  remain  deeply  in- 
debted to  the  Cambridge  Editors  for  their  accurate  collation  of  the  early 
editions  of  Shakespeare ;  they  may  well  be  proud  of  work  which  is 
done  for  all  time.  Although  the  present  collation  is  entirely  original, 
and  no  reading  recorded  at  second-hand,  yet  it  should  be  always  borne 
in  mind  that  I  had  the  great  advantage  of  a  check- list,  so  to  speak,  in 
the  footnotes  of  the  Cambridge  Edition.  If  here  and  there,  at  rare 
intervals,  there  appear  a  discrepancy  between  my  collation  and  that  of 
the  Cambridge  Editors,  let  it  not  hastily  be  supposed  that  any  inaccu- 
racy exists  in  either.  To  all  familiar  with  the  venerable  Folios  there 
comes  with  age  and  wider  experience  no  little  caution  in  pronoun- 
cing upon  the  accuracy  or  inaccuracy  of  any  alleged  reading.  What- 
ever be  the  explanation,  the  fact  is  certain  that  not  only  in  these 
volumes,  but  in  others  of  the  same  period,  more  or  less  variety  exists 
in  copies  bearing  the  same  date  on  the  title-page.  That  the  copies  of  the 
First  Folio  vary  has  been  generally  known  ever  since  the  appearance, 
a  dozen  years  ago,  of  Booth's  most  accurate  Reprint.  Wherefore,  all 
a  cautious  editor  can  claim  for  his  collation  is  that  it  is  that  of  his  own 
copies,  *  always  thought '  that  there  exists  that  mysterious  percentage 
of  error  for  ever  inherent  in  every  book  which  issues  from  the  press. 

In  an  edition  like  the  present  it  is  of  great  moment  to  economise 
space,  especially  in  the  textual  notes.  Of  course  abbreviations  cannot 
be  avoided.  I  have  endeavored  to  make  them  as  intelligible  as  pos- 
sible, and  hope  that  I  have  made  one  or  two  improvements  on  those 
adopted  in  my  first  volume. 

There  was  so  little  genuine  collation  of  the  Folios  by  the  earlier 
editors  (though  they  all  more  or  less  claimed  great  diligence  in  the 
discharge  of  that  duty)  that  from  Rowe  to  Johnson,  inclusive,  the 
text  in  this  play  is  comparatively  uniform ;  and  as  Rowe  printed  from 
the  Fourth  Folio,  that  text  may  be  also  included  in  the  series.  Pope 
printed  from  Rowe,  and  Hanmer  printed  from  Pope;  I  am  not  quite 
certain  from  whom  Theobald  printed,  but  I  incline  to  think  from 
Pope's  second  edition.  I  am  quite  sure  that  Warburton  printed 
from  Theobald's  second  edition,  and  Dr  Johnson  printed  from  War- 
burton,  even  retaining  in  one  instance  a  ridiculous  and  palpable  mis- 
print. I  have  therefore  adopted  the  simple  mathematical  sign  -j-  to 
signify  Rowe,  Pope,  Theobald,  Hanmer,  Warburton,  and  Johnson,  col- 
lectively, or  any  of  them  not  specified  as  adopting  another  reading; 
where  any  of  these  editors  differed  from  the  rest  I  have  used  the  oppo- 
site mathematical  sign  —  before  the  name  of  the  deserter:  thus, 
Rowe  +  ( — Johns.)  means  that  all  these  editors  followed  Rowe  except 
Dr  Johnson,  whose  reading  is  the  same  as  the  text ;  if  his  reading  be 


VI  PREFACE. 

different  from  the  text,  it  is  of  course  given,  and  no  reference  is  made 
to  him  after  Rowe  -{~*  ^"^  ^^y  note  on  the  numbering  of  the  scenes, 
this  sign,  -f ,  does  not  include  Theobald,  in  whose  edition  the  scenes 
are  not  numbered. 

The  abbreviation  et  cet  after  any  reading  indicates  that  it  is  the 
reading  of  all  editors  other  than  those  specified. 

An  asterisk  indicates  that  the  reading  or  conjecture  is  taken  from 
The  Cambridge  Edition. 

These  are  the  only  abbreviations  which  I  have  used  except  in  the  case 
of  proper  names,  and  of  the  inferior  numerals  to  indicate  the  four 
Folios,  and  *Coll.  (MS),'  as  an  equivalent  for  Mr  Collier's  Manuscript 
Corrector.  My  abbreviations  of  proper  names  will  be  found  in  the 
List  of  Editions  collated.  It  may  be  proper  to  mention  here,  that 
Var,  includes  Malone's  Edition  of  1790;  and  that  Steev,  includes 
Steevens's  earlier  editions,  unless  otherwise  recorded,  and  except  in 
cases  of  trifling  differences. 

When  a  conjecture  by  an  Editor  is  recorded  I  place  *conj.*  after  his 
name,  lest  it  be  supposed  that  the  emendation  was  incorporated  in  his 
text.  In  all  other  cases  conj.  is  omitted.  When  any  conjectural  read- 
ing is  given  in  the  commentary  it  is  not  repeated  in  the  textual  notes 
unless  it  jias  been  adopted  in  some  text.  And  in  this  regard  it  is  to 
be  noted  that  I  have  diverged  from  the  custom  in  Romeo  and  Juliet, 
There  very  many  conjectures  are  simply  recorded  in  the  textual  notes 
without  comment.  Here  I  have  always  endeavoured,  where  practi- 
cable, to  give  space  to  the  critic  to  explain  or  advocate  his  emendation, 
except  in  the  cases  of  two  writers  for  whose  suggestions,  I  might  as 
well  confess,  my  patience  was  long  since  exhausted.  After  examining 
the  pages  of  this  volume  every  candid  student  will,  I  think,  give  me 
the  credit  at  times  of  long-suffering  patience.  But  I  reserve  to  myself 
the  right  to  set  a  limit  beyond  which  my  editorial  duty  of  imper- 
sonality does  not  oblige  me  to  pass,  and  that  limit  I  place  before  the 
volumes  of  Zachary  Jackson  and  Andrew  Becket.  Here  and  there 
Jackson's  technical  knowledge  of  a  printer's  case  has  enabled  him  to 
make  a  lucky  guess,  and  there  I  hope  I  have  done  him  justice.  But 
I  can  perceive  no  knowledge,  technical  or  otherwise,  that  has  served 
Andrew  Becket  in  any  stead.  If  these  two  wholesale  omissions  be 
reckoned  against  me,  I  shall  take  my  punishment  without  flinching. 

As  far  as  I  know,  this  is  the  first  edition  of  any  play  of  Shakespeare's 
in  which  there  has  been  any  attempt  to  give  literally  the  notes  of 
Capell.  All  editors  acknowledge  the  general  purity  of  his  text,  yet 
none  quote  his  voluminous  notes  up6n  it.  Nor  can  the  faintest  blame 
be  attached  to  them  for  the  omission.  For  so  obscure  is  Capell 's  style 
that  it  happens  not  infrequently  that  his  elucidation  is  far  darker  than 


PREFACE.  VU 

the  passage  which  he  explains.  Dr  Johnson  said  that  if  CapeQ  had 
come  to  him  he  would  have  endowed  his  purposes  with  words ;  axKl 
Warbarton  pronounced  him  an  'idiot.'  'His  style/ says  Lettsom, 
'  may  be  fairly  described  by  parodpng  Johnson's  pan^yric  on  Addi* 
'  son.  Whoever  wishes  to  attain  an  English  style  uncouth  without  sim* 
'  plicity,  obscure  without  conciseness,  and  slo^-enly  without  ease,  most 
'give  his  nights  and  days  to  the  Notes  of  Capell.'  And  as  if  all  this 
were  not  enough,  these  Notes  are  printed  in  so  odd  a  £ishion,  that  it 
is  in  itself  an  additional  stumbling-block.  The  page  is  a  large  Quarto* 
divided  into  parallel  columns,  and  at  whate\'er  letter  the  lines  end, 
there  the  word  is  cut  off,  and  a  hyphen  joins  the  dismembered  sylU* 
ble.  For  instance,  on  looking  over  only  a  page  or  two,  I  find  such 
divisions  as  the  following :  *pr-oceed,'  *wh-ere,*  'gr-ound,'  'thr-ough,* 
'wh-ich,'  *editi-ons,'  *  pl-ease,*  'be-auty,*  'apothe-gms,'  *mat-ch,' 
'sou-rce.'  It  is  really  humiliating,  after  the  drollery  has  worn  off,  to 
find  how  serious  is  the  annoyance  which  so  trifling  a  matter  can  create* 

And  yet  in  spite  of  all  this,  Capcll's  notes  are  worthy  of  all  respect. 
He  had  good  sense,  and  his  opinions  (when  we  can  make  them  out) 
are  never  to  be  lightly  discarded.  The  note  cited  at  the  beginning 
of  Act  II,  and  on  *  The  Date  of  the  Play  *  on  p.  381,  are  instances  of 
his  style  at  its  best. 

'  Walker,'  without  further  specification,  refers  to  the  Third  Volume 
of  W.  Sidney  Walker's  Criticisms  on  the  Text  of  SAakes/eare, 

Citations  from  Abbott's  Shakespearian  Grammar  refer  to  the  third 
Edition  of  that  invaluable  book,  which  was  issued  in  its  present 
enlarged  form  while  my  former  volume  was  going  through  the  press, 
but  too  late  to  be  cited  except  here  and  there  towards  the  close.  Oc- 
casionally I  have  cited  Abbott,  not  because  he  was  by  any  means  the 
first  to  call  attention  to  certain  peculiarities  of  construction,  but  because 
he  spreads  before  us  such  a  wealth  of  illustration. 

In  1673  there  appeared  ^Macbeth  :  A  Tragedy.  Acted  At  the  Dukes- 
*  Theatre,*  This  has  hitherto  been  cited  as  D'avenant's  Version^  even 
by  the  very  accurate  Cambridge  Editors,  and  in  sooth  it  may  be  that 
it  is,  but  it  is  very  different  from  the  D'avenant's  Version  published  in 
the  following  year,  to  which  almost  uniformly  all  references  apply,  and 
not  to  this  edition  of  1673.  The  only  points  of  identity  between  the 
two  are  to  be  found  in  the  Witch -scenes,  and  there  they  are  not 
uniformly  alike,  nor  are  the  Songs  introduced  in  the  same  scenes  at 
the  same  places ;  and  of  the  Song  ^ Black  Spirits  and  white i'  &c.,  only 
the  first  two  words  are  given.  In  other  respects  the  edition  of  1673 
is  a  reprint  of  the  First  Folio,  as  for  instance,  to  give  one  proof  out 
of  very  many  that  might  be  adduced,  the  phrase  'the  times  has 


VllI  PREFA  CE. 

'been'  (III,  iv,  78)  is  retained  by  D'avenant  from  the  First  Folio,  while 
in  the  later  Folios  it  is  changed  to  modern  usage.  It  is  a  source  of 
regret  that  I  did  not  record  a  more  thorough  collation  of  this  edition 
in  the  First  Act,  but  it  was  some  time  before  I  discovered  the  difference 
between  it  and  the  version  of  1674,  reprinted  in  the  Appendix.  Asa 
general  rule,  however,  unless  otherwise  stated,  the  readings  of  F, 
include  the  edition  of  D'avenant  of  1673.  I  am  also  sorry  that  I  did 
not  distinguish  between  the  two  versions  by  citing  the  earlier  under 
some  other  title,  as,  for  instance,  Betterton's :  it  is  a  mere  suspicion 
of  mine  that  the  success  which  attended  the  representation  of  this 
earlier  version  induced  the  Poet  Laureate  in  the  following  year  to 
'amend'  it  still  more,  and  prefix  an  'Argument,'  which,  by  the  way, 
he  took  word  for  word  from  Heylin's  Cosmography. 

The  first  divergence  from  the  First  Folio  in  Betterton's  version  (if  I 
may  be  permitted  so  to  term  it  for  the  nonce,  to  avoid  repetition  and 
confusion)  occurs  at  the  end  of  the  Second  Scene  in  the  Second  Act, 
where  the  Witches  enter  and  *sing'  the  song  found  in  D'avenant's  Ver- 
sion (see  p.  324),  beginning  'Speak,  SisUr,  is  the  Deed  done 9^  &c., 
down  to  *  What  then,  when  Monarch' s  perish,  should  we  do?' 

At  the  end  of  the  next  scene  occurs  the  second  divergence,  consist- 
ing of  the  Witches'  Song  (see  p.  325),  beginning  ^  Let' s  have  a  Dance 
*upon  the  Heath,'  &c.,  down  to  'We  Dance  to  the  Ecchoes  of  our 
^Feet,'  as  it  is  in  D'avenant's  version,  except  that  'the  chirping  Cricket' 
is  changed  into  the  ^chirping  Critick.* 

The  third  and  last  addition,  which  is  not  wholly  unauthorized,  since 
it  is  indicated  in  the  Folios,  is  to  be  found  at  III,  v,  33.  Here  the 
extract  from  Middleton  (see  pp.  337  and  401)  is  given :  *  Come  away 
^Heccat,  Heccat,  Oh,  come  away,'  &c.,  down  to  'Nor  Cannons  Throats 
*  our  height  can  reach.'  As  I  have  before  said,  with  these  three  excep- 
tions, Betterton's  version  is  a  more  or  less  accurate  reprint  of  the  First 
Folio;  some  of  the  most  noteworthy  discrepancies,  however,  that 
occur  in  the  First  Act  are  as  follows,  and  I  might  as  well  give  them 
here,  since  they  are  not  recorded  in  the  textual  notes :  In  I,  vi,  26,  *  in 
'compt*  (Jo  count — Betterton) ;  I,  vii,  11,  *  Commends  th'  Ingredience' 
(Commands  th'  Ingredience — Betterton);  I,  vii,  13,  'First,  as  I  am* 
(First,  I  am — Betterton);  I,  vii,  22,  '  Heauen's  Cherubin '  (Heavens 
Cherubim — Betterton);  I,  vii,  51,  *  Be  so  much  more  the  man*  (Be 
much  more  the  Man — Betterton);  I,  vii,  70,  'What  not  put  vpon  * 
(  What  not  upon — Betterton)  ;  I,  vii,  76,  '  their  very  Daggers*  (their 
Daggers — Betterton).  Noticeable  also  is  the  phrase  *  everlasting  bone- 
^fire^  in  the  Porter's  speech,  which  may  contain  an  allusion  which  would 
point  more  to  D'avenant  as  its  author  than  any  other.  I  think  that  I 
have  recorded  all  other  varias  lectiones  of  any  moment.     Let  it  be  borne 


PREFACE.  IX 

in  mind  that  'Dav.'  in  the  textual  notes  refers  to  this  Edition  of 
1673. 

In  the  year  1 799  there  was  published  at  York  an  Edition  of  Macbeth, 
with  ^ Notes  and  Emendations  by  Harry  Rowe,  Trumpet-Major  to  the 
'  High  Sheriffs  of  Yorkshire ;  and  Master  of  a  Puppet-show.  The 
'Second  Edition.'     In  the  Preface  the  Editor  says,  *  Critics  may  call 

*  me  an  impudent  fellow,  if  they  please ;  and  my  associates  a  parcel 

*  of  blockheads ;  but  I  would  have  those  learned  gentlemen  to  know, 
'that  what  we  want  in  genius,  we  make  up  in  solidity.  In  plain 
'English,  I  am  Master  of  a  Puppet-show;  and  as  from  the  nature  of 

*  my  employment,  I  am  obliged  to  have  a  few  stock-plays  ready  for 
'representation,  whenever  I  am  accidentally  visited  by  a  select  party 

*  of  Ladies  and  Gentlemen,  I  have  added  the  Tragedy  of  Macbeth  to 

*  my  Green-room  collection.  The  alterations  that  I  have  made  in 
'  this  play  are  warranted  from  a  careful  perusal  of  a  very  old  manu- 
'  script  in  the  possession  of  my  prompter,  one  of  whose  ancestors  by 
'  the  mother's  side,  was  rush-spreader,  and  candle-snuffer,  at  the  Globe 

*  play-house,  as  appears  from  the  following  memorandum  on  a  blank 
'page  of  the  manuscript.  This  day  March  the  fourth  1598  received 
*[paid*J  the  sum  of  seven  shillings  and  four  pence  for  six  bundles  of 
^rushes  and  tivo pair  of  brass  snuffers.     Having  brought  myself  for- 

*  ward  as  a  Dramatic  Critic,  let  me  beseech  the  authors  of  the  Pursuits 

*  of  Literature  to  bestow  upon  me,  and  my  wooden  Company,  an 
'immortal  flagellation.'  Although  Harry  Rowe  was  a  veritable 
person,  yet  a  glance  at  the  notes  scattered  through  his  volume  is  suffi- 
cient to  show  that  they  were  not  written  by  a  man  whose  life  had  been 
spent '  ushering  Judges  into  the  Castle  of  York '  and  pulling  the  wires 
of  a  Puppet-show.  It  is  easy  to  see  that  these  notes  are  the  work  of 
one  who  revelled  in  the  immunity  which  a  mask  afforded  of  levelling 
his  satire  at  the  critics  of  the  day,  and  also  of  proposing  emendations 
of  the  text  which,  as  coming  from  a  showman,  would  at  least  be  read, 
while  if  they  were  issued  under  his  own  unfamiliar  signature  they  might 
be  passed  by  unheeded.  So  keen  is  the  satire  that,  as  the  Cambridge 
Editors  say,  it  is  *  not  always  quite  certain  whether  the  Editor  is  in 
'jest  or  earnest.*  In  Notes  and  Queries '\  it  is  stated  that  Mr  F.  G. 
Waldron,  the  dramatic  Editor,  has  prefixed  to  a  copy  of  Macbeth  the 
following  manuscript  note  :   *  Alexander  Hunter,  M.  D.,  now  residing 


♦  My  copy  of  this  Edition  of  Macbeth  is  a  presentation  copy,  *  E  dono  Editoris,* 
and  contains  mcny  corrections,  and  some  additional  MS  notes,  signed,  like  the  printed 
notes,  *//.  i?.'  In  the  present  passage  *  received  *  is  crossed  out  with  a  pen,  and/aiV/ 
written  above  H.  Ed. 

t  Third  Senes,  vol.  xi,  25  May,  1867. 


X  PREFACE. 

'at  York,  was  the  real  Editor  of  Harry  Rowe's  MacMh;  but  not 

*  choosing  to  acknowledge  it  publicly,  he  gave  it  to  Harry  Rowe  to 
'  publish  it  for  his  own  emolument.    Mr  Melvin,  an  actor  of  celebrity 

*  who  performed  at  Coven t  Garden  Theatre,  in  the  season  of  1806-7, 
'  and  previously  at  the  York  Theatre,  was  acquainted  with  Dr  Hunter, 

*  and  was  informed  by  him  of  the  above.*  The  emendations  from 
this  source  are  accordingly  in  the  Cambridge  Edition  credited  to  'A. 
Hunter ;'  as,  however,  there  are  already  two  commentators  of  that 
name,  and  only  one  of  Rowe,  I  have  preferred  to  retain  the  pseudonym. 
As  Harry  Rowe  printed  from  Steevens,  I  have  not  recorded  his  read- 
ings except  in  cases  of  divergence.* 

A  Variorum  Edition  of  Macbeth  was  published  in  1807  anony- 
mously; it  followed  the  text  of  Reed's  Edition  of  1803,  and  con- 
tains, besides  original  notes  signed  *Z,'  some  'Preliminary  observa- 

*  tions,'  of  which  perhaps  the  most  valuable  is  an  account  of  the  various 
actors  and  actresses  who  had  up  to  that  time  assumed  the  chief  parts 
in  this  tragedy,  and  a  notice  of  Matthew  Lock,  the  composer  of  the 
music  introduced  in  D*avenant*s  Version.  This  Edition  I  have  cited 
in  the  Commentary  under  the  heading  Anonymous. 

Under  the  name  of  Elwin  I  have  cited  the  notes  contained  in  an 
Edition  of  Macbeth^  called  Shakespeare  Restored,  privately  printed  at 
Norwich,  England,  in  1853.  Mr  Phillipps  (Halliwell),  in  his  folio 
Ekiition,  says  that  this  Macbeth  '  is  now  known  to  have  been  written 
*by  Hastings  Elwin,  esq.,  of  Horstead  House  near  Norwich,'  and 
furthermore  pronounces  him  *  the  most  able  of  any  of  its  critics.'  As 
the  metrical  division  of  the  lines  of  the  First  Folio  is  '  restored  *  in 
this  Edition,  I  have  not  cited  Elwin  in  addition  to  F,  in  the  textual 
notes,  in  cases  of  metre. 

In  the  Appendix  I  have  reprinted  D*avenant's  Version  of  1674. 
Let  it  not  be  supposed  that  because  this  Version  holds  in  this  volume 
a  position  corresponding  to  the  Reprint  of  the  First  Quarto  in  Romeo 
and  yuliety  I  esteem  it  of  proportionate  value  in  a  literary  point  of 
view.  It  is  reprinted  simply  because  it  is  by  no  means  a  common 
book  in  this  country,  and  because  to  this  hour  it  retains  a  certain  hold 
upon  the  stage,  and  influences  disastrously  the  acting  of  Macbeth,  It 
has,  moreover,  supplied  not  a  few  changes  of  the  text  in  the  editions  of 
the  earlier  Editors.  To  save  space  I  have  not  recorded  these  emenda- 
tions, but  have  left  them  to  be  discovered  by  the  student, — neither  an 
uninteresting  nor  an  unprofitable  task. 

*  For  further  information  concerning  Harry  Rowe  see  Notes  and  Queries  just 
cited,  and  also  the  number  for  27  April  in  the  same  volume,  and  Chambers^s  Book  of 
DaySf  vol.  ii,  p.  436,  cited  by  Mr  John  Piggott,  jun. 


PREFACE. 

Then  follows  a  reprint  of  the  passages  from  Hounshed  whence 
Shakespeare  obtained  the  materials  for  this  tragedy ;  and  it  was  while 
in  search  of  these  passages  that  I  came  across  one  which  has  escaped 
the  vigilance  of  my  predecessors,  and  which  I  cannot  but  believe 
gave  Shakespeare  the  hint  for  the  '  voice '  which  '  murdered  sleep  j' 
it  is  given  on  p.  359. 

Then  succeed  various  extracts  in  which  learned  Editors  and  Com- 
mentators have  found  indications,  more  or  less  remote,  of  the  Source 
OF  THE  Plot. 

The  discussion  on  the  Date  of  the  Play  follows  next  in  order, 
together  with  an  account  of  Middleton's  Witch^  of  which  the  scenes 
that  have  any  relation  to  the  present  tragedy  are  reprinted.  Under 
the  heads,  *The  Text,'  'Costume,'  'Was  Shakespeare  ever  in 
'Scotland?'  'The  Character  of  Macbeth,'  'The  Character  of 
'  Lady  Macbeth,'  I  have  endeavoured  to  condense  and  digest  much 
information  scattered  through  many  and  various  volumes.  The  re- 
marks of  several  English  Commentators  follow,  which  could  not  well 
be  put  under  any  of  these  headings.  In  my  selection  (and  I  was 
forced  to  make  a  selection,  or  *  the  line  would  stretch  out  to  the  crack 
'  of  doom ')  I  was  guided  by  the  wish  to  reproduce  passages  of  value 
not  readily  accessible  to  the  ordinary  student.  Such  books  as  Hud- 
son's Lectures  on  Shakespeare,  or  his  more  recent  volumes:  Shake- 
speare's Art,  Life,  and  Characters,  and  Giles's  Human  Life  in 
Shakespeare,  are  within  easy  reach,  and  should  be  in  the  possession 
of  every  lover  of  the  Poet. 

To  the  selections  from  the  German  commentators  I  have  prefixed 
a  short  account  of  several  translations  in  that  language,  down  to  Schle- 
GEL  and  Tieck's  in  1833.* 

*  Of  course,  in  these  early  versions  it  is  not  difficult  to  find  misinterpretations 
that  sometimes  verge  on  the  ludicrous.  One  occurs  in  Wisland's  translation,  and, 
although  it  does  not  properly  belong  to  this  tragedy,  it  is  so  very  ingenious  that  I 
cannot  refrain  from  mentioning  it  here,  more  especially  since  I  can  hardly  expect  to 
live  long  enough  to  reach  the  play  in  which  it  is  found.  In  the  Third  Act  of  Timcn 
of  Athens,  at  the  close  of  the  bitter  blessing  which  Timon  asks  upon  his  feast  of 
warm  water,  he  says  to  his  false  friends,  *  Uncover,  dogs,  and  lap.*  This  short  phrase 
completely  gravelled  Wieland.  He  knew  what  'uncover*  meant,  and  what  *dogs* 
meant,  but  *  lap* — there  was  the  rub.  At  last  it  dawned  on  him  that  *  lapdogs*  were 
household  favourites  in  England.  The  difficulty  vanished,  and  the  whole  phrase  was 
converted  into  a  stage  direction :  *  The  covers  are  removed,  and  the  dishes  are  all 
*  found  to  be  filled  with  dogs  of  various  kinds.*  It  would  be  unfair  to  convey  the 
\mpression  that  this  exquisite  rendering  has  escaped  the  notice  of  Wieland*s  suc- 
cessors; it  is  detected  in  Genre's  excellent  History  of  Shakespeare's  Dramas  in 
Germany. 


Xll  PREFACE. 

If  there  be  any  one  pursuit  which  is  likely  to  teach  humility  on  the 
subject  of  errors,  typographical  and  otherwise,  it  is  a  study  of  the  va- 
rious editions  of  Shakespeare.  I  claim  no  undue  exemption  from  the 
common  lot ;  I  can  only  say  that  I  have  spared  neither  time  nor  labour 
in  aiming  at  perfection,  and  for  all  failures  in  my  attempts  to  reach 
that  unattainable  standard  my  apologies  may  be  presumed. 

It  is  with  no  slight  degree  of  pleasure  that  I  recount  the  names  of 
those  to  whom  I  am  indebted  for  aid.  First,  alphabetically  and  in 
degree,  my  thanks  are  due  to  Prof.  Allen,  of  the  University  of  Penn- 
sylvania, whose  notes  appear  here  and  there  on  the  following  pages, 
and  to  whom  I  have  constantly  appealed  when  in  editorial  distress,  and 
never  in  vain;  to  J.  Payne  Collier,  esq.,  for  many  acts  of  thought- 
ful kindness,  and  whose  name  here,  as  a  living  presence,  links  this 
edition  with  the  days  of  Steevens  and  Malone ;  to  Prof  Corson, 
of  Cornell  University;  to  A.  I.  Fish,  esq. ;  to  the  Rev.  H.  W.  Foote 
of  Boston;  to  the  Hon.  Alexander  Henry;  to  Dr  Hering;  to  Dr 
C.  M.  Ingleby  of  London ;  to  J.  Parker  Norris,  esq. ;  to  J.  O. 
Phillipps,  esq.,  of  London;  to  W.  L.  Rushton,  esq.,  of  Liverpool; 
to  Lloyd  P.  Smith,  esq..  Librarian  of  the  Philadelphia  Library;  to 
S.  TiMMiNS,  esq.,  of  Birmingham,  and  to  W.  A.  Wheeler,  esq..  Libra- 
rian of  the  Boston  Public  Library.  And  to  the  following  gentlemen 
my  hearty  thanks  belong  for  words  of  cheer,  or  kind  proffers  of  assist- 
ance :  Prof.  Karl  Elze  of  Dessau;  the  Rev.  H.  N.  Hudson  of 
Boston;  W.  J.  Rolfe,  esq.,  of  Cambridge;  H.  Staunton,  esq.,  of 
London;  Prof.  Ulrici  of  Halle;  R.  Grant  White,  esq.,  and  W. 
Aldis  Wright,  esq.,  of  Trinity  College,  Cambridge. 

To  my  father,  the  Rev.  Dr  Furness,  I  am  indebted  for  the  trans- 
lation of  many  passages  from  the  German  (all  that  is  well  done  is  his, 
and  the  rest  mine),  and  to  my  sister,  Mrs  A.  L.  Wister,  for  translat- 
ing the  extract  from  Flathe. 

Nor  should  I  forget  Mr  L.  F.  Thomas,  the  Proof-reader  in  the 
establishment  where  this  volume  is  stereotyped  ;  the  worth  of  an  accu- 
rate, vigilant  proof-reader  it  is  hard  to  over-estimate  in  a  work  like  the 
present,  where  typographical  difficulties  occur  on  nearly  every  page. 

H.  H.  F. 


LIST  OF  EDITIONS  COLLATED  IN  THE  TEXTUAL  NOTES. 


The  First  Folio        .  , 

The  Second  Folio    .  . 

The  Third  Folio     .  . 

D'avenant's  Version 

The  Fourth  Folio 

ROWE  (First  Edition) 

RowE  (Second  Edition) 

Pope  (First  Edition) 

Pope  (Second  Edition) 

Theobald  (First  Edition) 

Theobald  (Second  Edition) 

Hanmer  (First  Edition) 

Warburton  .  . 

Johnson 

Capell 

Hanmer  (Second  Edition) 

Jennens 

Johnson  and  Steevens 

Johnson  and  Steevens 

Steevens 

Malone 

Rann 

Steevens 

Harry  Rowe         .  . 

Reed's  Steevens    .  . 

Reed's  Steevens    .  . 

Boswell's  Malone 

Singer  (First  Edition) 

Knight  (First  Edition) 

Collier  (First  Edition) 

Hudson  (First  Edition) 

Singer  (Second  Edition) 

Dyce  (First  Edition) 

Collier  (Second  Edition) 

Staunton     

White 

The  Globe  Edition   .  . 

Clark  and  Wright 

Delius 

Halliwell  (Folio  Edition) 

Knight  (Second  Edition) 

Keightley  .  . 

Dyce  (Second  Edition) 

The  Clarendon  Press  Series 

Hudson  (Second  Edition) . 


F. 
Fa 

Dav.] 

FJ 
Rowe  i] 

Rowe  ii] 

Pope  i] 

Pope  ii] 

Theob.  i] 

Theob.  ii] 

Han.  i 

Warb/ 

Johns.^ 

Cap.] 

Han.  ii] 

Jen.] 

Steev.  '73 

Steev.  *78 

Steev. '85 

^Mal.] 

•        •  • 
Steev.] 
H.  Rowe 
Reed  '03 
Reed  '13 
Var.] 
Sing,  i] 
Knt  i] 
Coll.  i] 
Huds.  i] 
Sing,  ii] 
Dyce  i] 
Coll.  ii] 
[Sta.] 


•  • 


do.] 

Cam.] 

Del.] 
[Hal.] 

Knt  ii] 
[Ktly] 

Dyce  ii] 

Cla.] 

Huds.  ii] 


1623 
1632 
1664 

1673 
1685 

1709 

1714 

1725 

1728 

1733 
174c 

1744 

1747 
1765 

1767 

1770 

1773 
1773 
1778 
1785 

1790 
1791 

1793 
1799 

1803 

1813 

1821 

1826 

1 841 

1843 
1856 

1856 

1857 
1858 
i860 
1861 
1864 
1865 
1865 
1865 
1865 
1865 
1866 
1869 
1871 


viH 


LIST  OF  BOOKS  QUOTED  AND   CONSULTED  IN  THE 
PREPARATION  OF  THIS  VOLUME. 


Baret  :  An  Alvearie         .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  , 

HoLlNSHED:   Chronicles     .... 

Florio  :  A  Worlde  of  Wordes 

Kemps  nine  daies  wonder  (Dyce*S  Reprint)   .  . 

CoTGRAVE :  A  Dictionarie  of  the  French  and  English  Tongues    .  . 

An  Antidote  against  Melancholy  (CoLLlER^S  Reprint)    .  . 

Langbaine  :  English  Dramatic  Poets 

Theobald  :  Shakespeare  Restored    .  . 

Peck  :  Memoirs  of  Milton 
>^ Johnson  :  Miscellaneous  Observations  on  Macbeth  (  Works  ed.  1 825) 

Upton  :   Critical  Observations  on  Shakespeare     .  . 

Grey  :  Critical,  Historical,  and  Explanatory  Notes  on  Shakespeare 

Edwards:  CViw^im  ^Cri/iVw/w  (Seventh  Edition) 

Heath:  A  Revisal  of  Shakespeare*  s  Text 

Tyrwhitt  :   Observations  and  Conjectures  upon  some  Passages  of  Shakespeare 

Farmer:  An  Essay  on  the  Learning  of  Shakespeare     .  . 

Mrs  Griffiths  :    The  Morality  of  Shakespeare^ s  Dramas  .  . 

vMiddleton:   The  Witch    .  . 

Capell  :  Notes  and  Various  Readings  to  Shakespeare  (ed.  Collins) 

Ritson  :  Remarks,  Critical  and  Illustrative,  &c. 
^Davies  :  Dramatic  Miscellanies 

Mason  :  Comments  on  the  Last  Edition  of  Shakespeare  ,  . 

Whately  :  Remarks  on  some  of  the  Characters  of  Shakespeare  (Second  Edi 
tion  1808,  Third  Edition,  edited  by  Archbishop  Whately,  1839) 
'^Kemble:  Macbeth  Reconsidered 
VKemble:  Macbeth,  as  represented  on  opening  Drury  Lane  Theatre,  2lst  of 

mXprwXt  ••  ••  ••  •■  •«  a«  « 

Whiter  :  Specimen  of  a  Commentary  on  Shakespeare  .  . 

Richardson  :  Essays  on  Shakespeare's  Dramatic  Characters  (Fifth  Edition 

Mason  :   Comments  on  the  Plays  of  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  .  . 

Chalmers  :  Supplemental  Apology,  &c. 
^   Harry  Rowe  :  Macbeth  (Second  Edition)     .  .  .  .    • 

Lord  Chedworth  :  Notes  on  some  of  the  Obscure  Passages  of  Shakespeare's 
^"^•fiy  s  ■■  ••  ••  ••  ■•  ••  « 

Seymour  :  Remarks,  Critical,  Conjectural,  and  Explanatory  on  Shakespeare 

Massinger:   The  Works  of  (qA.  GwvOfLU) 

Chalmers:  Caledonia 

Douce  :  Illustrations  of  Shakespeare  .  .  .  .  .  • 

^'^Anouymous  Variorum  Edition  of  Macbeth       •  .  •  •  •  •  • 


580 

587 
598 
600 
632 
661 
691 
726 
740 

745 
746 

754 
765 

765 
766 

767 

775 
778 
779 
783 
784 

785 

785 
786 

786 
794 

797 
798 

799 
799 

805 
805 
805 
807 
807 
807 


UST  OF  BOOKS. 


XV 


Eighteenth  Century 


Mason  :  Comments  on  the  several  Editions  of  Shakespeare 

Lamb  :  Dramatic  Poets  (ed.  Bohn  1854) 

Becket  :  Shakespeare's  Himself  Again 

JONSON,  The  JVorks  of  (ed.  Gifford) 

Drake  :  Shakespeare  and  his  Times 

Nichols  :  Illustrations  of  the  Literary  History  of  the 
vol.  ii 
•  Hazlitt  :  Characters  of  Shakespeare^ s  Plays  , 

Kkmble  :  Macbeth  and  Richard  the  Third 

Jackson  :  Shakespeare^ s  Genius  yustified 

Nares  ;  Glossary  (ed.  H  ALU  WELL  and  Wright,  1867) 

Skottovve:  Life  of  Shakespeare       .  . 
**  BOADEN :  Life  of  J.  P,  Kemble 

Carr  :  Dialect  of  Craven   .  . 

Drake  :  Memorials  of  Shakespeare  .  . 

Brockett  :  Glossary  of  North  Country  IVords 

FoRBY:  Vocabulary  of  East  Anglia  .  . 

Webster,  The  Works  of{cd.  Dyce) 

Collier  :  Annals  of  the  Stage  .  . 

Riddle:  Illustrations  of  Aristotle  from  Shakespeare 
4Mrs  Jameson  :  Characteristics  of  Women 
^  Campbell:  Life  of  Mrs  Siddons       .  . 
^  Collier  :  New  Particulars,  &c.       .  . 

Brown  :  Shakespeare^ s  Autobiographical  Poems 

Patterson  :  Natural  History  of  the  Insects  mentioned 

MiDDLETON:    The  Works  of  {fidi,  Y^-^Q^)  .  . 

Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  The  Works  ^(ed.  Dyce) 

Dyce:  Remarks  on  Collier^ s  and  Knight's  Editions  of  Shakespeare 

The  Shakespeare  Society's  Papers,  vol.  i 

Hunter  :  New  Illiist rations  of  the  Life,  Studies  and  Writings  of  Shakespeare 

An  Essay  on  the  Character  of  Macbeth  (A  Reply  to  Fletcher) 

Planch^:  British  Costume 

Badham  :   Criticism  applied  to  Shakespeare 

Fletcher  :  Studies  of  Shakespeare  .  . 

Birch  :  Inquiry  into  the  Philosophy  and  Religion  of  Shakespeare 
j   Coleridge  :  Notes  and  Lectures  upon  Shakespeare  (ed.  Mrs  H.  N.  Cole 
ridge.     London) 

7^  Shakespeare  Society s  Publications,  vol.  xvii 
-HROFPE:  An  Essay  upon  the  Ghost  Belief  of  Shakespeare 

De  Quincey  :  Miscellaneous  Essays  (Boston  ed.) 

Collier:  Notes  and  Emendations,  &.C.,  from  the  Early  Manuscript  Correc 
tions  in  a  Copy  of  the  Folio  of  1 632  (First  and  Second  Editions) 

Singer:   The  Text  of  Shakespeare  Vindicated^  Sac, 

Elwin  :   Shakespeare  Restored 

Dyce  :  A  Few  Notes  on  Shakespeare  .  . 

Hunter  :  A  Few  Words  in  Reply,  &c.  .  . 

W.  Sidney  Walker  :  Shakespeare's  Versification 
^  Grant  White:  Shakespeare s  Scholar  .  , 

^Hallam  :  Introduction  to  the  Literature  of  Europe  (Fifth  Edition) 

Mitford  :   Cursory  Notes,  &c. 


in  Shakespeare 


\%tfl 
1808 
1815 
1816 
1817 

1817 
1817 
1817 
1819 
182a 
1824 
1825 
1828 
1828 
1829 
1830 
1830 
1831 
1833 

1833 
1834 
1836 

1838 
1838 
1840 

1843 
1844 
1844 

1845 
1846 

1846 

1846 

1847 
1848 

1849 
1850 

1851 

1851 

1853 

1853 

1853 

1853 

1853 
1854 

1854 

1855 

1856 


XVI 


LIST  OF  BOOKS. 


Collier  r  Smeti  Licluns  on  Shaktsptare  and  Milloit,  by  the  lali  S.  T.  Colt- 

Badkam:   Tki  7V^/^/5/ja*^j;var/ (Cambridge  Essays) 

Bathurst;    Tki  DiJ.-renees  e/SAali/sf/art's  Vertijication 

RusHTOf):  Shakfspeart,  a  Lawyer  .  , 

Eaton  :  Shah^sj-cart  aitJ thf  £ihlt .  . 
-  Lloyd  :   Enoys  on  Shaiispearc 

DVCE 1  Slriciurei  m  CiUitrs  iV^ui  Edition,  Se. 

LoKD  Campbell:   The  Ligal  Acquirements  »/ Skakisfiare 

Jfem  Exegesis  a/ Shaktipearc 

RUSHTOS:  Skakesptare's  Legal  Maxims 

InCLEBV:   The  Shake speare  Fabrication! 

W.  Sidney  Walker    A  Critical  Examination  of  tki  Text  of  Shi 

JBKVIS:  J'rofinsn/  JimenilaliaHS,kc, 

Magihn:  Shakespeare  Papers 

Nichols:  Pfot/s  on  Shakespeare 

CarrutHERS  and  CHAMBERS     Tke  Works  of  Shakespeare 

Bailey  :  On  ike  Received  Text  ef  Skakesptare 

Chambers    Booie/Duys 

Clarke:  Shatespeare-CAaraclers,  &C. 

Corson:  Ckaaeer'i Zrgende ji/ CaoJe IVonitH 

Wordsworth    Skakapeare'i  Knirwltdge  and  Use  of  the  Bible 

&EI5LEV    Shakespeare    Garden 

Welleslev:  Stray  N^tts  on  tke  Text  of  Shakespeare    .  . 

ArROWShITH     Shaktspeart'i  Editors  and  Commentators 

HERAUD  :  Skakespeare's  Inner  Life  .  . 

Stbarks:   Shakespeare's  Afidieal  K'n^neteJ^-e  .  . 

Heard:    The  Legal  Acquirements  of  Shakespeare  .  . 

Rye    £Mgland  as  setn  by  Foreigners 

73f£'M>i'j0/'iViifj«'<t  (Dublin UnivenityMagaiine,  Mirch) 

CarTWRIGHT:  Nrla  Readings  tH  Shakespeare  .  . 

Kellogc    Skakespeare'i  £lelineatioHse///iiiirii/y.&c.  .  . 

Nates  en  The  Tempesl  iy  the  Philadelphia  Shnk  i/.t;  Society 

Clayden:  Macbeth  and  Lady  Macbeth    Fonn]-lnly  Review,  1  i 

RushtoH:  Shakespeare  Illustraled  iy  Old  Authors        .  . 

KElGim-EV    Shakespeare  Expositor 
-Bucknill:    The  Mad  Folk  of  Shakespeare       .  . 

Forsyth  ;  Some  Nolis  en  Shakespeare's  Ckaracter  and  Writings 

Mmi  Kembi.f.    Some  Notes  upon  the  Characters  in  Macbeth  ( 
M.-.i;;.7,mo.  May)  

Giles  i  Human  Life  in  Skakeipeare  .   . 

RaYNE     M'lihelh,  Arrangeafor  Dramalic  Reading 

Mrs  Kemhle    Lady  Macbeth  (Macmillan's  Magaiine,  February) 

Fitzgerald    Life -of  Garriek 

Rushton     Skakespeare's  Testamentary  Language 

French  :  Shakespeartana  Genealogica  .  . 

K  Dalcleish    Macbeth 

H'ENBY  Reed    English  History  and  Poetry  (London) 

Rev.  John  Hunter    Macbeth 

Ellis  ;  Early  Englisk  Pronunciation,  &c.      .  . 


LIST  OF  BOOKS. 


XVU 


MuRRlS :   Glossary  of  the  Words  and  Phrases  of  Fumess 
Grant  White  :  Lady  Gruach's  Husband  (The  Galaxy,  May) 
Daniel  :  Notes  and  Conjectural  Emendations  .  . 

Abboit  :  A  Shakespearian  Grammar  (Third  Edition)  .  . 
RUSHTON :  Shakespeare  Illustrated  by  the  Lex  Scfipta  .  . 
Green  :  Shakespeare  and  the  Emblem  IVriters  .  . 

RUGGLES:    The  Method  of  Shakespeare^  Slc, 
ii  Lane  :  Charles  Kemble's  Shakspere  Readings  . 
Lennig  :  Macbeth  (The  Penn  Monthly,  May) . 
Harting:   The  Ornithology  of  Shakespeare     . 
RusHTON :  Shakespear^s  Euphuism 
Grant  White  :  Words  and  their  Uses 

Craik:   The  English  of  Shakespeare  (ed.  RoLFE.     Seventh  Edition) 
Hudson  :  Shakespeare  :  His  Life^  Art^  and  Characters .  . 
Massey:    The  Secret  Drama  of  Shakespeare^ s  Sonnets  unfolded  (Second 

Edition) 
Wedgewood:  Dictionary.  . 
Gentlemen^ s  Magazine. 
Edinburgh  Review. 
Blackwood's  Magazine. 
Eraser's  Magazine. 
The  Athenceum. 
Notes  and  Queries. 


1869 
1870 
1870 
1870 
1870 
1870 
1870 
1870 
1870 
1871 
1871 
l^l 
1872 
1872 

1872 
1872 


GERMAN  EDITIONS. 

Stephanie  der  JOngere:  Macbeth 

Eschenburg:  Shakespeare's  Schauspiele 

BOrger:  Macbeth 

Schiller:  Macbeth 

Voss :  Shakespeare' s  dramatische  Werke 

FiCK :  Macbeth  f  with  german  notes  .  , 

Meyer  :  Shakespearis  dramatische  Werke 

Benda  :  Shakespeare' s  dramatische  Werke 

SpikeR:  Macbeth 

Voss :  Shakespeare' s  dramatische  Werke 

Lachmann:  Macbeth 

Kaufman N  :  Shakespeare s  dramatische  Werke 

Francke  :  Macbethy  sprachlich  und  sachlich  erlSutert  , 

Schlegel  and  Tieck  :  Shakespeare's  dramatische  Werke 

HiLSENBERG:  Shakespeare's  dramatische  Werke 

KoRNER  :  Shakespeare'' s  dramatische  Werke    .  , 

Ortlepp  :  Shakespeare's  dramatische  Werke   .  . 

Heinichen:  Macbeth 

Delius  :  Macbeth  aus  der  Folioausgabe  von  1 623  abgedruckt^  mit  den  Vari 

anten  der  Folioausgaben  von  1632,  1664,  und  1687  [sic]  und  kritischen 

Anmerkungen  zum  Text  .  . 

SiMROCK:  Shakspere  als  Vermittler  vweier  Nationen.     Probeband :  Macbeth 
Keller  and  Rapp  :  Shakespeare^ s  dramatische  Werke  .  . 


1773 
1776 

1784 
1801 
1810 
1812 
1825 
1825 
1826 
1829 
1829 
1830 
1833 

1833 
1836 

1836 

1838 

1841 


1841 
1842 

1845 


XVlll 


LIST  OF  BOOKS. 


Ikooa;  Macbeth  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  .  • 

HSRRIG:  Macbeth  .  .  .  .  •  .  .  • 

SCHLEGEL  and  TiBCK :  Shakespeare's  dramoHsche  Werke 

jB3fCKEN:  Macbeth 

Deuus  :  Shakespear^s  dramatische  Werke  (Zweite  Auflage) 

Jordan:  Macbeth 

Bodenstedt:  Macbeth 

Delixjs  :  Shakespear^s  dramatische  Werke  (Neue  Ausgabe) 

Leo:  Macbeth     •  . 

Max  Moltke  :  Shakespeare's  dramatische  Werke         .  • 


.  .   1843 

.  .  1853 

.  .  I8SS 

.  .  185s 

.  .   1865 

.  .   1867 

.  .  1867 

.  .  I87I 

.  .  I87I 

.  .  n.  gL 

GERMAN  COMMENTARIES. 

PdnscHKE:   Ueber  Shakespeare s  Macbeth            .  .             .  .         .  .  •  .     1801 

Schlegel  :  Dramatic  Art  and  Literature  (translated  by  John  Black,  London)     i  Si  5 

Horn:  Shakespeare' s  Schauspiele  erldutert      .  .             .  .             ,■  .  .  .     1823 

FritzarT:    War  Shakespeare  ein  Christ?       ,  .             .  .             .  .  ,  .     1832 

Heine  :  Shakespeare s  Mddchen  und  Frauen  .  .             .  .             ,  ,  ,  ,     1839 

JOST:  Erkldrendes  Worterbuch  zu  Shakespeare' s  plays  .  .             •  •  .  ,     1 840 

RdTSCHER :   Cyclus  dramatischer  Charaktere  .  .             .  ,             ,  ,  .  .     1844 

HiECKE:  Macbeth ^  erldutert  und  gewUrdigt    .  .             .  .             .  .  .  ,     1846 

Delius:  Die  Tieck'sche  Shaksperekritik          .  .             ,  ,             ,  ,  ,  ,     1846 

:  ViscHER :  Aesthetiky  oder  Wissenschaft  des  Schonen        .  .             .  ,  1846,  1 85 7 

4  Ulrici  :  Shakespeare's  dramatische  Kunst  (Zweite  Auflage)  [First  Edition 

translated  by  Morrison,  London,  1846]     .  .             .  .             .  .  .  .     1847 

Vehse:  Shakespeare  als  Protestant t  Politiker,  Psychology  und  Dichter        .  .     1851 

Delius  :  Shakespeare- Lexicon           .  .             .  .             .  .             .  .  .  .     1852 

HClseman:  Shakespeare^  sein  Geist  und  seine  Werke    .  .             .  .  ,  .     1856 

HenSE:  Vortrdge  aber  Shakespeare f  Schiller  und  Goethe               .  •  .  .     1856 

I  Betrachtungen  iiber  die  religiose  Bedeutung  Shakespeare^ s             .  •  .  .     1858 

^IGervinus:  Shakespeare     .  .             .  .             .  .             .  ,             .  .  .  .     1862 

Kreyssig  :    Vorlesungen  Uber  Shakespeare       .  .             .  .             .  .  .  .     1862 

Ad.  Meyer  :    Shakespeare s   Verletzung  der  historischen   und  natUrlichen 

Wahrheit      .  .             .  .             .  .             .  ,             .  .             ,  ,  .  ,     1863 

Flathe:  Shakespeare  in  seiner  Wirklichkeit  .  .             ,  .             .  .  .  ,     1863 

RdTSCHER :  Shakespeare  in  seinen  hochsten  Charakterbilden         .  .  .  .     1864 

SCHWARTZKOPF :  Shakespeare  in  seiner  Bedeutung  fUr  die  Kirche  in  unserer 

A ^^^  •■  ••  •*  ••  ••  •< 

RdTSCHER :  Die  Kunst  der  dramatischen  Darstellung  .  . 

Hebler  :  Au/sdtze  Uber  Shakespeare 

ROmelin:  Shakespearestudien 

Petri  :  Zur  EinfUhrung  Shakespeare's  in  die  christliche  Familie 

Leo  :  Shakespeare s  Frauen- Ideate   .  .  .  . 

TSCHISCHVVITZ :  Shakespeare- Forschungen 

P'riesen  :  Shakespeare  von  Gervinus 

SiMROCK :  Die  Quellen  des  Shakespeare  (Zweite  Auflage)  .  . 

Gin£e  :   Geschichte  der  Shakespeare schen  Dramen  in  Deutschland 

TCHISCHWITZ :  De  Omaniibus  Epithetis  in  Shaksperi  operibus    .  . 


RiTTER :  Programm  der  Realschule  %u  Leer  .  . 


1864 
1864 

1865 
1866 
1868 
1868 
1868 
1869 
1870 
1870 
MDCCCLXXI 
.  .     1871 


LIST  OF  BOOKS.  XIX 

Kreyssig:  Shakespeare- Fragen        .  .             .  .             .  .  .  .             .  .     1871 

LUDWIG:  Shakespeare- Studien          .  .             .  .             .  .  .  .             .  .     1872 

Die  yahrbucher  der  deutschen  Shakespeare-  Gesellschaft, 


FRENCH   EDITIONS  AND   COMMENTARIES. 

GuizoT:   CEuvres  Computes  de  Shakespeare  (Septiime  Edition,  1 868) 

DUPORT:  Essais  LUtiraires  sur  Shakespeare  .  . 

Laroche  :   CEuvres  Computes  de  Shakespeare  (Cinquidme  Edition,  1869)   . 

GiRARDiN:  Cours  de  Littirature  Dramaiique  .  .  ..  1845,1855 


ViLLEMAiN  :  £tudes  de  Littirature  Ancienne  et  £trangere 

Chasles  :  Atudes  sur  Shakespeare 

Michel  :   CEuvres  Computes  de  Shakespeare,     Pricidie  de  la  Vie  de  Shake 

peare  par  Thomas  Campbell'^     .  . 
Lacroix  :  Histoire  de  rinfluence  de  Shakespeare  sur  U  Thidtre  Frangais 
Fran(JOIS- Victor  Hugo  :  CEuvres  Computes  de  W,  Shakespeare  .  . 
M£:zi]^RES:  Shakespeare ^  ses  CEuvres  et  ses  Critiques 
Chatelain  :  Macbeth^  traduite  en  vers  Frangais 
Victor  Hugo  :  William  Shakespeare  .  . 

Lamartine  :  Shakespeare  et  son  CEuvre  .  . 

Taine  :  Littirature  Anglaise 
GuiZOT :  Shakespeare  et  son  Temps  (Nouvelle  fedition) 


1821 
1828 
1842 


1849 
185 1 

1855 
1856 
1859 
1S60 
1862 
1864 
1865 
1866 
1869 


*  On  the  outtide  paper  cover  this  '  Vie  de  Shakespeare '  is  said  to  be  *  par  Woodsworth*  Eo. 


M  ACBETH 


noblemen  of  Scotland. 


DRAMATIS    PERSONiE/ 

Duncan,  King  of  Scotland. 
Malcolm,     ) 

DONALBAIN.  ;  ^^  *°"^- 

Macbeth,"  ) 

Banquo,      I  generals  of  the  King's  army. 

Macduff, 

Lennox,^ 

Ross, 

Menteith,* 

Angus, 

Caithness,^ 

Fleance,  son  to  Banquo. 

SiWARD,  earl  of  Northumberland,  general  of  the  English  forces. 

Young  SiWARD,  his  son. 

Seyton,*  an  officer  attending  on  Macbeth. 

Boy,  son  to  Macduff. 

An  English  Doctor. 

A  Scotch  Doctor. 

A  Sergeant. 

A  Porter. 

An  Old  Man. 

Lady  Macbeth. 
Lady  Macduff. 
Gentlewoman,'  attending  on  Lady  Macbeth. 

Hecate. 
Three  Witches. 
Apparitions. 

Lords,  Gentlemen,  Officers,  Soldiers,  Murderers,  Attendants,  and 

Messengers. 

Scene:  Scotland:  England, 

*  As  given  by  Dyce.     First  given  by  Rowe.  om.  Ff. 

*  Macbeth]  Macbeth,  his  Gsusin  and  General  of  his  Forces,  Cap. 

*  *  *  Lennox,  Menteith,  Caithness]  Lenox,  Menteth,  Catlmess  in  all  eds.  before 
Dyce's. 

'  Siton]  Theob.  i. 

'  Gentlewoman...]  Capell.     Gentlewomen...  Rowe,  +. 

2 


THE    TRAGEDY    OF 


M  ACBETH. 


ACT    I. 

Scene  I.     A  desert  place. 

Thunder  and  lightning.     Enter  three  Witches. 

First  Witch,     When  shall  we  three  meet  again 
In  thunder,  lightning,  or  in  rain  ? 

Act    I.     Scene    i.]   Actus   Primus.  i,  3,  5,  6,  7,  8,  9.     First,  Sec,  Third 

Scoena  Prima.  Ff.  Witch]  I,  2,  3.  Ff. 

A  desert  place.]  An  open  Heath.  I.     again'\     Han.       againe  ?    F^F,. 

Rowe  + .    An  open  place.  Theob.  Warb.  again  f  F  F  . 

Johns,     ora.  Ff.     A  Cross-way.  Cap.  2.     or'\  and  Han.  Cap.  Jen. 

Scene  i.]  Seymour.  The  witches  seem  to  be  introduced  for  no  other  purpose 
than  to  tell  us  they  are  to  meet  again ;  and  as  I  cannot  discover  any  advantage 
resulting  from  such  anticipation,  but  on  the  contrary,  think  it  injurious,  I  conclude 
the  scene  is  not  genuine. 

Coleridge  (p.  241).  The  true  reason  for  the  first  appearance  of  the  Witches  is 
to  strike  the  key-note  of  the  character  of  the  whole  drama. 

C.  A.  Brown  (p.  147).  Less  study,  less  experience  in  human  nature,  less  mental 
acquirements  of  every  kind,  I  conceive,  were  employed  on  Macbeth^  wonderfully  as 
the  whole  character  is  displayed  before  us,  than  on  those  imaginary  creations,  the 
three  weird  sisters  who  haunt  his  steps,  and  prey  upon  his  very  being. 

Schmidt  (p.  436).  The  witches  should  not  be  visible  when  the  curtain  rises,  but 
should  glide  in  like  ghosts. 

I-Ii.  When.. .air]  Delius.  This  metre  (namely  Trochaics  of  four  accents,  inter- 
mixed here  and  there  with  Iambics)  Sh.  has  elsewhere  used  to  mark  the  language 
of  supernatural  creatures,  as  in  Temp,  and  Mid.  N.  D. 

2.  or]  Jennens.  The  question  is  not  which  of  the  three  they  should  meet  in,  but 
when  they  should  meet  for  their  incantations. 

3 


4  MACBETH.  [act  I,  sc.  i. 

Sec,  Witch,     When  the  hurlyburly's  done, 

3.     hurlyburiy s^  Hurley-burleys  F,. 

H.  RoWE.  By  the  use  of  the  disjunctive  particle  or^  for  the  conjunctive  and^  the 
terror  of  the  scenery  is  lessened.  Thunder,  lightning  and  rain,  when  combined, 
present  a  terrific  image ;  but  when  separated,  they  cease  to  impress  the  mind  with 
the  same  degree  of  terror. 

Knight  (ed.  2).  The  Witches  invariably  meet  under  a  disturbance  of  the  ele- 
ments, and  this  is  clear  enough  without  any  change  of  the  original  text. 

3.  hurlyburly]  Henderson.  In  The  Garden  of  Eloquence^  1577,  by  Henry 
Peacham,  we  find :  *  Onomatopeia,  when  we  invent,  devise,  fayne,  and  make  a  name 
intimating  the  sownd  of  that  it  signifyeth,  as  hurlyburly y  for  an  uprore  and  tumult- 
uous stirreJ* 

Todd.    The  propriety  of  this  expression  in  the  Scottish  hag's  mouth  has  not 

hitherto  been  noticed.     The  word  is  to  be  found  in  Adagia  Scotica^  or  a  Collection 

of  Scotch  Proverbs,  &c.     Collected  by  R.  B.     Very  useful  and  delightful.     London, 

166S: 

"  Little  kens  the  wife  that  sits  by  the  fire 
How  the  wind  blowrs  cold  in  hurl*  burU  rwyre;" 

that  is,  how  the  wind  blows  cold  in  the  tempestuous  tnountain  top :  for  swyre  is  used 
either  for  the  top  of  a  hill  or  tlie  pass  over  a  hill.  This  sense  accords  with  the 
Witch's  answer :  *  When  the  hurlyburly's  done,'  that  is,  the  storm. 

H.  RowE.  To  say  A  riot's  done,  A  battle's  done,  A  storm's  done,  A  hurlyburly's 
done,  is  not  very  good  English.  My  company  of  wooden  comedians  always  say 
OVER.     Praesente  quercu,  ligna  quivis  colligit. 

Singer.  The  witches  mean  when  the  tumult  0/ the  battle  was  over,  for  they  were 
to  meet  again  in  lightning,  thunder,  and  rain  :  their  element  was  a  storm.  Thus,  in 
Arthur  Wilson's  Hist,  of  James  I.  p.  141  :  *  Being  among  a  wavering  people,  and  a 
conquering  enemy,  in  the  field,  took  time  by  the  foretop,  and  in  this  hurlieburlie  the 
next  morning  left  Prague.'  Again,  Baret^s  Alvearie,  '573  •  *  But  harke  yonder: 
what  hurlyburly  or  noyse  is  yondc :  what  sturre^  ^'ujfling,  or  bruite  is  that  ?' 

Nares.  I/urlu-burlut  which  is  not  in  the  common  French  dictionaries,  is  in  the 
latest  eds.  of  the  dictionary  of  the  Academy,  both  as  substantive  and  adjective. 
Explained  *  6tourdi.' 

Collier.  It  was  in  common  use  in  our  language,  and  for  the  purposes  of  the 
stage,  before  Peacham  noticed  it.  In  the  old  interlude  of  *  Appius  and  Virginia,* 
by  R.  B.  1575  : — *  Thus  in  hurlyburly ^  from  pillar  to  poste,  Poore  Haphazard  daily 
was  toste.' — Sig.  E. 

Staunton.   In  More's  Utopia,  trans,  by  Ralph  Robinson,  1 551:  * all  this 

busy  preparance  to  war,  whereby  so  many  nations  for  his  sake  should  be  brought 
into  a  troublesome  hurley-burley^  &c. 

Dyce.  *  A  Hurly-burly,  Turbic  Tumultus.^ — Coles's  Diet, 

Clarendon.  In  Cotgravc,  *  C7;'^3w^^  .•  f.  A  great  coyle,  stirre,  garboyle,  tunnoyle, 
hurlyburly.'  Sh.  uses  it  as  an  adjective  in  i  Hen.  IV:  V,  i,  78.  *//«r/v'  is  proba- 
bly connected  with  the  French  hurlery  to  howl  or  yell.  The  French  word  hurlu- 
burlUf  meaning  *  harum-scarum,'  is  given  by  Littr6  as  of  unknown  etymology. 
Probably  the  modern  *  hullabaloo'  is  a  corruption  of  *  hurlyburly.'  In  speaking  of 
Wat  Tyler's  rebellion,  Holinshed  (vol.  ii,  p.  1030)  says :  * the  commons  kept 


ACTi,  sc.  i.]  MACBETH.  5 

When  the  battle's  lost  and  won. 

Third  Witch,     That  will  be  ere  the  set  of  sun.  5 

First  Witch,     Where  the  place  ? 

Sec,  Witch,  Upon  the  heath. 

Third  Witch.     There  to  meet  with  Macbeth. 

First  Witch,     I  come,  Graymalkin. 

4.  battle' s\  BattaiWs  F^.  Battailes  Macbeth  Cap.  to  meet  and  greet  Mac- 
F^.  BattePs  F  F  ,  Rowe,  Pope,  Thcob.  beth  Jackson,  to  meet  with  thane  Mac- 
i,  Han.  i.  beth  Nicholson.* 

won.'\  won  :  Cap.  8.     /  come^  I  come^  I  come  Pope  + , 

5.  the^  om.  Pope  +.  Sing.  i.  putting  Grimalkin  in  a  separate  line ;  in 

6.  heath.'\  heath  :  Cap.  same  line,  Theob.  Warb.  Johns. 

7.  to  meet  with  Macbeth^  I  go  to  meet  [Spirits  call  in  succession.  Nich- 
Macbeth  Pope  +.     to  meet  with  great  olson.* 

such  like  stur,  so  that  it  was  rightly  called  the  hurling  time,  there  were  such  hurly 
burlyes  kept  in  euery  place.' 

5.  sun]  Knight  (ed.  2).  We  have  here  the  commencement  of  that  system  of 
tampering  with  the  metre  of  Sh.  in  this  great  tragedy  which  universally  prevailed 
till  the  reign  of  the  Variorum  critics  had  ceased  to  be  considered  as  firmly  established 
and  beyond  the  reach  of  assault.  Wc  admit  that  it  will  not  do  servilely  to  follow 
the  original  in  every  instance  where  the  commencement  and  close  of  a  line  are  so 
arranged  that  it  becomes  prosaic ;  but  on  the  other  hand  we  contend  that  the  desire 
to  get  rid  of  hemistichs,  without  regard  to  the  nature  of  the  dialogue,  and  so  to  alter 
the  metrical  arrangement  of  a  series  of  lines,  is  to  disfigure,  instead  of  to  amend, 
the  poet.  Any  one  who  has  an  ear  for  the  fine  lyrical  movement  of  the  whole  scene 
will  see  what  an  exquisite  variety  of  pause  there  is  in  the  ten  lines  of  which  it  con- 
sists. Take,  for  example,  line  7,  and  contrast  its  solemn  movement  with  what  has 
preceded  it. 

7.  There]  Jennens.  Pope's  reading  is  certainly  wrong ;  for  not  only  the  Third 
Witch  was  going  to  meet  Macbeth  but  all  three  :  so  that  if,  for  the  sake  of  the  meas- 
ure, there  needed  an  alteration,  '  There  we  go  tc  meet  Macbeth  '  would  have  been  the 
proper  reading.     [Harry  Rowe  adopted  this  emendation.  Ed.] 

Steevens.  Had  the  First  Witch  not  required  information,  the  audience  must  have 
remained  ignorant  of  what  it  was  necessary  for  them  to  know.  Her  speeches, 
therefore,  proceed  in  the  form  of  interrogatories ;  but  all  on  a  sudden  an  answer  is 
given  to  a  question  which  had  not  been  asked.  Here  seems  to  be  a  chasm  which  I 
shall  attempt  to  supply  by  the  introduction  of  a  single  pronoun,  and  by  distributing 
the  hitherto  mutilated  line  among  the  three  speakers :  3  Witch,  There  to  meet  with — 
I  Witch.  Whom  f  2  Witch.  Macbeth.  Distinct  replies  have  now  been  afforded  to 
the  three  necessary  inquiries.  When,  Where  and  Whom  the  Witches  were  to  meet. 
The  dialogue  becomes  more  regular  and  consistent,  as  each  of  the  hags  will  now 
have  spoken  thrice  (a  magical  number)  before  they  join  in  utterance  of  the  conclud- 
ing words,  which  relate  only  to  themselves.  I  should  add  that,  in  the  two  prior 
instances,  it  is  also  the  Second  Witch  who  furnishes  decisive  and  material  answers, 
and  that  I  would  give  the  words,  *  I  come,  Graymalkin !'  to  the  Third. 

[This  emendation  was  adopted  by  Rann.  Ed.] 

8.  Graymalkin]  Steevens.  Upton  observes,  that  to  understand  this  passage,  we 

I* 


6  MACBETH,  [ACT  l,  sc.  i. 

Sec.  Witch,     Paddock  calls. 
Tldrd  Witch,  Anon ! 

9,  lo.     Sec.  Witch.  Paddock...  Third  Ff,  etc. 

Witch.  Anon!  All.  Fair'\  Hunter  conj.  calls.  Third  Witch.  Anon!'\  calls 

Sing,  ii,  White,  Ktly,  Glo.  Cla.  2.  Witch.  anon:F(.     calls — anon — Rowe.    calls 

Padocke... — anon  I  All.  Fair  Pope  +,  — anon!  Pope  +.     calls: — Anon  I  Cap. 

Dyce  ii.     All.   Padocke., .anon :  Fair.  9,  lo.     One  line,  Ff,  Rowe. 

should  suppose  one  familiar  calling  with  the  voice  of  a  cat,  and  another  with  the 
croaking  of  a  toad. 

White.  This  was  almost  as  common  a  name  for  a  cat  as  *  Towser*  for  a  dog,  01 
*  Bayard '  for  a  horse.     Cats  played  an  important  part  in  witchcraft. 

Clarendon.  It  means  a  gray  cat.  *  Malkin '  is  a  diminutive  of  *  Mary.'  *  Mau- 
kin,'  the  same  word,  is  still  used  in  Scotland  for  a  hare.     Compare  IV,  i,  I. 

9.  Paddock]  Steevens.  According  to  Goldsmith  a  frog  is  called  a  paddock  in 

the  North;  as  in  Caesar  and  Pompey,  by  Chapman,  1 607,  * Paddockes,  todes, 

and  watersnakes.*  Again  in  Wyntownis  Cronykil,  b.  i,  c.  xiii,  55 :  *  As  ask,  or 
eddyre,  tade  or  pade.'  In  Sh.,  however,  it  certainly  means  a  load.  The  Representa- 
tion of  St.  James  (painted  by  Hell  Breugel,  1566)  exhibits  witches  flying  up  and 
down  the  chimney  on  brooms,  and  before  the  fire  sits  grimalkin  and  paddock^  i.  e.  a 
cal  and  a  toady  with  several  baboons.  There  is  a  cauldron  boiling,  with  a  witch  near 
it  cutting  out  the  tongue  of  a  snake  as  an  ingredient  for  the  charm. 

Tollet.  • Some  say  they  (witches)  can  keepe  devils  and  spirits  in  the  like- 
ness of  todes  and  cats.' — Scot'*s  Discovery  of  Witchctafty  1584,  i,  c.  iv. 

Nares.  Paddock  proi>erly  means  a  toady  not  only  in  Sh.  but  everywhere.  The 
word  comes  to  us  from  the  Saxon  Pada.  Iz.  Walton  talks  of  *  the  padock  or  frog- 
padock,  which  usually  keeps  or  breeds  on  land  and  is  very  large  and  boney,  and 
big.*  Part  i,  ch.  viii.     By  Sh.  it  is  made  the  name  of  a  familiar  spirit. 

Singer.  What  we  now  call  a  toad-stool  was  anciently  called  ^paddock-stool. 

Collier.  In  the  Townley  Miracle-Play  called  *  Lazarus'  (pu])lished  by  the  Sur- 
tees  Society,  p.  325)  we  read,  *And  ees  out  of  your  hede  thus-gate  shalle  paddokes 
pyke.' 

Halliwell.  *  Paddock,  toode,  bufo.^  Prompt.  Parv.  Topsell,  in  his  Historic  of 
Serpents,  1608,  speaks  of  a  poisonous  kind  of  frog  so  called. 

Clarendon.  Cotgrave  gives  the  word  as  equivalent  to  grenouilUy  a  frog,  and  not 
to  crapaudy  a  toad.  Minsheu  gives  also  *  Padde'  =  *  Bufo.'  'Paddock'  is  in  its 
origin  a  diminutive  from  *  pad,'  as  *  hillock '  from  *  hill.' 

9.  Anon]  Nares.  Immediately,  or  presently. 

Dyce.  Equivalent  to  the  modem  *  coming.' 

9-1 1.  Sec.  Witch... .air]  Hunter.  It  is  a  point  quite  notorious  that  the  stage- 
directions  throughout  the  Folios  are  very  carelessly  given,  and  have  been  often 
silently  corrected  by  the  later  edd.  So  carelessly  have  they  been  given  that  we  have 
sometimes  the  actor's  name  instead  of  that  of  the  character.  [The  distribution  of 
speeches  here  proposed  is  that  adopted  in  the  text.  Ed.]  Now  we  have  the  three 
times  three  of  the  witches  at  Saint  John's.  [When  James  I.  visited  Saint  John's 
College,  Oxford,  he  was  encountered  by  three  youths  personating  the  three  Wayward 
Sisters  who  had  the  interview  with  Macbeth  and  Banquo,  with  appropriate  song  or 
dialogue.  Ed.]  And  we  may  perceive  also  a  correspondency  with  the  *  Thrice  to 
thine,  and  thrice  to  mine.  And  thrice  again  to  make  up  nine.' 


ACTi,  sc.  ii.]  MACBETH.  7 

All.     Fair  is  foul,  and  foul  is  fair :  10 

Hover  through  the  fog  and  filthy  air.  [Exeunt 


Scene  1 1.     A  camp  near  Forres. 

Alarum  within.     Enter  DUNCAN,  MALCOLM,  Donalbain,  Lennox,  with  Attend- 
ants, meeting  a  bleeding  Sergeant. 

Dun.     What  bloody  man  is  that?     He  can  report, 
As  seemeth  by  his  plight,  of  the  revolt 

II.     M<r]  om.  Pope,  Han.  Duncan,]  Cap.   King,Ff    (King 

[Exeunt.]   Ff.     They  rise  from  Malcome  FJ. 

the    Stage,   and    fly   away.    Rowe   +.  Sergeant.]   Glo.  Cam.   Dyce  ii. 

Witches  vanish.  Mai.  Cla.     Captaine.  Ff,  Rowe,  +,  Coll.  ii, 

A  camp ]  Cap.     A  Palace.  Rowe,  Sta.     Soldier.  Cap.  etc. 

Pope.     The  Palace  at  Foris.  Theob. +.  I.     Dun.]    Cap.      King.    Ff     (and 

Alarum  within]  om.  Rowe  +.  throughout). 

10.  Fair.. .fair]  Johnson.  The  meaning  is,  that  to  us^  perverse  and  malignant  as 
we  2L.TQffair  is  foul  and  foul  is  fair. 

Seymour.  That  is,  now  shall  confusion  work ;  let  the  order  of  things  be  inverted. 
Staunton.  The  dialogue  throughout,  with  the  exception  of  lines  8  and  9,  was 
probably  intended  to  be  sung  or  chanted. 

11.  Hover]  Abbott,  J  466.  The  v  in  this  word  is  softened ;  and  although  it  may 
seem  difficult  for  modem  readers  to  understand  how  it  could  be  done,  yet  it  presents 
no  more  difficulty  than  the  dropping  of  the  v  in  *  ever*  or  *  over.* 

II.  air]  Elwin.  This  brief  dialogue  of  the  witches  is  a  series  of  congratulatory 
ejaculations,  and,  brought  to  the  height  of  ecstasy,  they  exultingly  proclaim  them- 
selves such  as  take  good  for  evil  and  ez*il  for  good ;  for  the  phrase  *  Fair  is  foul,'  &c. 
includes  this  moral  sense,  in  addition  to  its  literal  reference  to  the  tempestuous 
weather,  as  being  propitious  (such  was  the  belief  of  the  time)  to  works  of  witch- 
craft. The  last  line  but  one  [lines  9,  10;  Elwin  follows  F^  in  the  division  of 
lines.  Ed.],  where  the  exclamation  becomes  general,  is  designedly  made  of  great 
length,  indicating  that  it  is  sjx)ken  with  breathless  rapidity,  significative  of  the  bust- 
ling delirium  of  triumph  into  which  the  speakers  are  wrought  by  the  sounds  that 
have  summoned  them,  and  by  the  expectancy  awakened  by  the  course  and  character 
of  their  colloquy,  whilst  the  last  line  is  brought  into  unison  with  it  by  an  exultant 
prolongation  of  the  concluding  word  air  (as  far  as  the  exhalation  of  a  full-drawn 
breath  will  permit)  to  suit  the  motion  of  ascending  into  it.  The  modem  division  of 
the  one  line  into  two  tames  down  the  conception  of  the  author,  by  enfeebling  the 
expression  of  this  natural  increase  of  wicked  excitement. 

Scene  ii.]  Clarendon.  [See  Appendix,  p.  391.  Ed.] 

Fores]  See  Appendix,  p.  363.  Ed. 

I.  bloody]  Bodenstedt.  This  word  *  bloody'  reappears  on  almost  every  page, 
and  runs  like  a  red  thread  through  the  whole  piece ;  in  no  other  of  Sh.'s  dramas  is 
it  so  frequent. 


) 


8  MACBETH,  [ACT  i,  sc.  ii. 

The  newest  state. 

MaL  This  is  the  sergeant 

Who  like  a  good  and  hardy  soldier  fought 

*Gainst  my  captivity. — Hail,  brave  friend !  5 

Say  to  the  king  the  knowledge  of  the  'broil 
As  thou  didst  leave  it. 

Ser.  Doubtful  it  stood ; 

3,  4.     sergeant  Whc.good^  Serjeant^  7,  25,  34.     Ser.]  Cap.  Ff. 

xvho  Like  a  right  good  Han.  7.     Doubtful^  DoubtfuUong  Pop>e  -♦- . 

sergeant'\  sergeSnt  Ktly.  Doubtfully  Steev. 

5.  Hail'\  I/aile  F,.    Haile :  haile  F,.  if\  it  had  Anon.* 

Hail^  hail  F^F^,   Rowe  +   ( — Johns.)  stood ;"]  Ktly,  marks  a  line  om. 

Cap.  stood.     For  the  two  armies  were  Ktly, 

6.  the    knouf ledge"]     thy    knowledge        conj. 
Walker,  Coll.(MS.)  White,  Ktly,  Dyceii. 

3.  sergeant]  Steevens.  Holinshed  mentions,  in  his  account  of  Macdowald's 
rebellion,  that  the  king  sent  a  sergeant  at  arms  to  bring  up  the  chief  offenders  to 
answer  the  charges  preferred  against  them;  but  the  latter  misused  and  slew  the 
messenger.  This  sergeant  at  arms  is  certainly  the  origin  of  the  bleeding  sergeant 
here  introduced.  Sh.  just  caught  the  name  from  Holinshed,  but  disregarded  the 
rest  of  the  story. 

Singer.  In  ancient  times  they  were  not  the  petty  officers  now  distinguished  by 
that  title,  but  men  performing  one  kind  of  feudal  military  service,  in  rank  next  to 
esquires. 

Staunton.  Sergeants  were  formerly  a  guard  specially  appointed  to  attertd  the 
person  of  the  king;  and,  as  Minsheu  says,  *to  arrest  Traytors  or  great  men,  that  doe, 
or  are  like  to  contemne  messengers  of  ordinarie  condition,  and  to  attend  the  Lord 
High  Steward  of  England,  sitting  in  judgement  upon  any  Traytor,  and  such  like.' 

Clarendon.  It  is  derived  from  the  French  sergent^  Italian  sergente^  and  they  from 
Lat.  seri'iens.  So  we  have  g  for  v  in  pioggia^  abrfger^  alleggiare^  alUger^  &c.  It 
originally  meant  a  common  foot- soldier. 

Walker  (  Vers.  p.  182).  In  this  line,  if  nothing  be  lost,  the  e  in  *  sergeant'  is 
pronounced  as  a  separate  syllable. 

4,5.  Who.. .friend]  Walker  {Crit.  iii,  250).  One  might  suggest  *  Hail,  my 
brave  friend  !*  But  a  somewhat  lesser  alteration  may  suffice  to  restore  the  metre,  by 
commencing  the  second  line  *  Fought  against,'  &c.     Or  can  anything  be  lost  ? 

5.  Hail]  Abbott,  \  484.  Monosyllables  containing  diphthongs  and  long  vowels, 
since  they  naturally  allow  the  voice  to  rest  upon  them,  are  often  so  emphasized  as  to 
dispense  with  an  unaccented  syllable.  When  the  monosyllables  are  imperatives  of 
verbs,  or  nouns  used  imperatively,  the  pause  which  they  require  after  them  renders 
them  peculiarly  liable  to  be  thus  emphasized.  Whether  the  word  is  dissyllabized,  or 
merely  requires  a  pause  after  it,  cannot  in  all  cases  be  determined. 

7.  As. ..stood]  Abbott,  \  506.  Lines  with  four  accents,  where  there  is  an  inter- 
ruption in  the  line,  are  not  uncommon.  It  is  obvious  that  a  syllable  or  foot  may  be 
supplied  by  a  gesture,  as  beckoning,  a  movement  of  the  head  to  listen,  or  of  the 
hand  to  demand  attention. 


ACTI,  sc.  ii.]  MACBETH.  9 

As  two  spent  swimmers,  that  do  cling  together 

And  choke  their  art.     The  merciless  Macdonwald — 

Worthy  to  be  a  rebel,  for  to  that  lO 

The  multiplying  villanies  of  nature 

Do  swarm  upon  him — from  the  western  isles 

Of  kerns  and  gallowglasses  is  supplied ; 

,8.     /w^]/^Warb.  13.     Of]  IVi/ A  Han. 

9.     Macdonwald]    Macdonnel    F^F^  gallowglasses]  Callow  glasses  F, 

F^.     Macdonel  Pope  + ,  Cap.     Macdo-  F^F^.     Callowgrosses  F,. 

nal  Johns.  is]  was  Pope,  + . 

1 1 .     villanies]  Villaines  F^F^. 

8.  spent]  Jennens.  'Tis  probable  Sh.  wrote  ^xpert^  cutting  off  the  e  to  make  it 
measure.  Spent  can  here  have  no  meaning ;  for  the  simile  is  drawn  from  two  per- 
sons swimming  for  a  trial  of  their  skill,  and  as  they  approach  near  the  goal,  they  are 
supposed  to  cling  together  and  strive  to  hinder  each  other  in  their  progress ;  an  opera- 
tion inconsistent  with  their  being  tired  and  spenty  but  well  agreeing  with  their  being 
expert  in  their  art. 

9.  art]  Clarendon.  That  is,  drown  each  other  by  rendering  their  skill  in  swim- 
ming useless.  *  Choke '  was  anciently  used  of  suffocation  by  water  as  well  as  by 
other  means.  See  Mark,v,  13 :  *  The  herd  ran  violently  down  a  steep  place  into  the 
sea... and  were  choked  in  the  sea.* 

9.  Macdonwald]  Steevens.  Holinshed  has  Macdawald, 

Malone.  So  also  the  Scottish  Chronicles.  Sh.  might  have  got  the  name  from 
Holinshed's  account  of  the  murder  of  King  Duff  by  Donwald, 

10.  to  that]  Abbott,  \  186.  The  radical  meaning  of  to  is  motion  towards. 
Hence  addition.  Further,  motion  *  with  a  view  to,'  *  for  an  end,*  &c.  This  is,  of 
course,  still  common  before  verbs,  but  the  Elizabethans  used  to  in  this  sense  before 
nouns.     In  the  present  case  *  For  to  that  *  =  to  that  end. 

13.  Of]  Abbott,  J  171.  Of\%  used  not  merely  of  the  agent  but  also  of  the 
instrument.  This  is  most  common  with  verbs  of  construction,  and  of  filling;  because 
in  construction  and  filling  the  result  is  not  merely  effected  -^nih  the  instrument,  but 
proceeds  out  of  it.  We  still  retain  of  with  verbs  of  construction  and  adjectives  of 
fulness,  but  the  Elizabethans  retained  of  with  verbs  of  fulness  also,  as  in  the  present 
instance. 

Clabendon.  Compare  Bacon's  Advancement  of  Learning,  Bk.  ii,  22,  {  15 :  *  He 
is  invested  of  a  precedent  disposition.* 

13.  kerns. ..gallowglasses]  Boswell.  *  The  G^^z/^^Aw  succedeth  the  Horseman, 
and  hee  is  commonly  armed  with  a  scull,  a  shirt  of  maile,  and  a  Calloglas  axe ;  his 
service  in  the  field  is  neither  good  against  horsemen,  nor  able  to  endure  an  encounter 
of  pikes,  yet  the  Irish  do  make  great  account  of  them.  The  Kerne  \^ Kernes.^  Col- 
lier] of  Ireland  are  next  in  request,  the  very  drosse  and  scum  of  the  countrey,  a 
generation  of  villaines  not  worthy  to  live ;  these  be  they  that  live  by  robbing  and 
spoyling  the  poor  countreyman,  that  maketh  him  many  times  to  buy  bread  to  give 
unto  them,  though  he  want  for  himself  and  his  poore  children.  These  are  they  that 
are  ready  to  run  out  with  everie  rebell,  and  these  are  the  verie  hags  of  hell,  fit  foi 
nothing  but  for  the  gallows.* — Bamabie  Riche's  New  Irish  Prognosti cation ^  p.  37. 


I O  MA  CBETH,  [act  i.  sc.  ii 

And  Fortune,  on  his  damned  quarrel  smiling, 

14.  damned  fuarrel'\  ]ohr{s.  damned  Coll.  Hal.  Clarke,  damped  quarry '^z.^- 
quarry  Ft,   Pope,  Theob.  Sing.   Knt,        son. 

Collier.  Boswell  was  not  aware  that  this  is  only  a  reprint,  with  a  different  title- 
page,  of  Riche*s  ^Description  of  Ireland^  1610. 

Dyce  {Gloss).  Jamieson  gives  ^ Kerne,     A  foot-soldier  armed  with  a  dart  or  a 

skean. 

**  Then  ne'er  let  the  gentle  Norman  blude 
Grow  cald  for  highland  Arrwr.**— {Scott's]  Antiquary  iii,  M4.' 

Again  (sub  *  Galloglach')  he  has  *  Kerns  is  merely  another  form  of  cateranes,^ 

Hunter  (ii,  165).  The  two  following  quotations  seem  to  give  a  clearer  account 
of  them  than  we  find  at  present  in  the  notes : — 

'  Coyne  and  liven  is  this  ;  there  will  come  a  Kerne  or  Galliglas,  whiche  be  the  Irish  soldiers,  to  lie 
in  the  churl's  house ;  whiles  he  is  there  he  wil  be  master  of  the  house,  he  wit  not  only  have  meat,  but 
money  also,  allowed  htm,  and  at  his  departure  the  best  things  he  shall  see  in  the  churl's  house,  be  it 
linnen,  cloth,  a  shirt,  mantle,  or  such  like.  Thus  the  churl  is  eaten  up,  so  that  if  dearth  fall  on  the 
country  where  he  dwelleth,  he  should  be  the  first  starved,  not  being  master  of  his  own. — A  Letter 
tent  by  y.  B.,  gtHtletnan^  unto  his  very  friend ^  Master  R,  C,  esquire,  wherein  is  contained  a  large 
discourse  0/ the  peopling  and  inhabiting  the  country  called  Ardes,  and  other  ai(;acent,  in  the  North 
0/ Ireland f  and  taken  in  hand  by  Sir  Thomas  Smith,  &»c.  X572.' 

In  latter  times,  as  Ware,  Antiq.  c.  12,  p.  57,  judiciously  remarks,  their  foot  [speaking  of  the  Scots 
of  the  Milesian  race,  the  ancient  inhabitants  of  Ireland]  were  of  two  sorts,  the  heavy,  and  light  armed ; 
the  first  were  called  Calloglachs,  armed  with  a  helmet  and  coat  of  mail,  bound  with  iron  rings,  and 
wore  a  long  sword.  They  fought  also  with  a  most  keen  axe,  afler  the  manner  of  the  Gauls,  men- 
tioned by  Marcellinus ;  their  light-armed  infantry,  called  Kehems^  fought  with  bearded  javelins  and 
short  daggers,  named  skeyns. — Dissertation  on  the  Antient  History  0/  Ireland ^  Dublin,  1753,  p.  70. 

White  (Note  on  2  Hen.  VI:  IV,  ix,  26:  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the  5  is 
superfluous  in  *  Kernes,*  and  that  *  Kern*  or  *  Kerne'  is  the  plural  form).  In  sup- 
port whereof  see  these  passages :  *  These  Curlewes  are  mountains  full  of  dangerous 
pa'^sages,  especially  when  the  Kern  take  a  stomach  and  a  pride  to  enter  into  action,* 
&c. —  The  Glory  of  England^  I,  ch.  xvii.  The  Description  of  Ireland.  *  Then  [in 
time  of  war]  doe  they  retire  under  the  covert  of  castles.... lying  altogether  in  one 
roome,  both  to  prevent  robberies  of  Kern  and  spoile  by  Wolves.* — Ibid.  *  The 
name  of  Galliglas  is  [1610]  in  a  manner  extinct,  but  of  Kern  in  great  reputation,  as 
serving  them,'  &c. — Ibid.  *  They  [the  Irish]  are  desperate  in  revenge,  and  their 
Kerne  think  no  man  dead  untill  his  head  be  off.* — Ibid. 

Clarendon  (Note  on  Rich.  II :  II,  i,  156).  The  derivation  of  the  word  Kern  is 
doubtful,  perhaps  from  ceam,  *man,*  in  old  Gaelic  and  Irish  (Webster).  Spenser, 
p.  370,  uses  *  kerne*  as  plural :  *  The  Irish  hubub,  which  their  kerne  use  at  their  first 
encounter.*  Ware  (Antiq.  of  Ireland,  p.  31)  says  that  the  kerns  were  light-armed, 
having  only  darts,  daggers,  or  knives,  while  the  gallowglasses  had  helmet,  coat  of 
mail,  long  sword,  and  axe. 

[See  V,  vii,  17.  Ed.] 

13.  is]  Lettsom.  Read,  with  Pope,  *  was;*  the  comiption  was  caused  by  *  Do* 
just  above. 

14.  quarrel]  Johnson.  I  am  inclined  to  read  quarrel,  which  was  formerly  used 
for  cause,  or  for  the  occasion  of  a  quarrel. 

Steevens.  This  word  occurs  in  Holinshed's  relation  of  this  very  fact,  and  may  be 
regarded  as  sufficient  proof  of  its  having  been  the  term  here  employed  by  Sh.  [See 
Appendix,  p.  360.  Ed.]     Besides  Macdonwald's  quarry  (;.  e.  game)  must  have  con- 


ACT  I,  sc.  ii.]  MACBETH.  1 1 

Show'd  like  a  rebers  whore :  but  all's  too  weak :  •  15 

15.     a  rebel's']  the  rebel's  Han.  ail's]  all  Pope,  +,  Lettsom. 

sisted  of  Duncan's  friends^  and  would  the  speaker  then  have  applied  the  epithet 
damned  to  them  ? 

Malone.  Again  in  this  play,  IV,  iii,  137, « our  warranted  quarrel;  the  exact  opposite 
of  damned  quarrel.  Bacon  in  his  Essays  uses  the  word  in  the  same  sense :  *  Wives 
are  young  men's  mistresses,  companions  for  middle  age,  and  old  men's  nurses ;  so  as 
a  man  may  have  a  quarrel  to  marry  when  he  will.* 

BosWELL.  It  should  be  recollected,  however,  that  quarry  means  not  only  game, 
but  also  an  arrow^  an  offensive  weapon.  We  might  say  without  objection  *  that  For- 
tune smiled  on  a  warrior's  sword.' 

Dyce.  This  note  of  Boswell's  would  almost  seem  to  have  been  written  in  ridicule 
of  the  commentators. 

Heath.  Quarry  here  means  the  slaughter  and  depredations  made  by  the  rebel. 
Thus  in  IV,  iii,  206,  *  Were,  on  the  quarry  of  these  murder'd  deer,'  &c. 

Dyce.  If  the  passage  in  IV,  iii,  206  is  to  be  considered  as  parallel  with  the  present ^ 
and  *his  quarry'  means  «the  slaughter  and  depredations  made  by  the  rebel,'  must 
we  not  understand  *  the  quarry  of  these  murder'd  deer'  to  mean  *  the  quarry  made 
by  these  murder'd  deer'  ? 

Strutt.  Quarry  signifies  that  harvest  of  spoil  which  Macdonwald  with  his  own 
hand  was  reaping  in  the  field  of  battle. 

Knight.  We  conceive  that  quarry  is  the  word  used  by  Sh.  We  have  it  in  the 
same  sense  in  Cor.  I,  i,  202 ;  the  'damned  quarry*  being  the  doomed  army  of  kernes 
and  gallowglasses,  who,  although  fortune  deceitfully  smiled  on  them,  fled  before  the 
sword  of  Macbeth  and  became  his  quarry — his  prey. 

Dyce.  How,  on  earth,  could  *  his '  mean  Macbeth' s  ?  Surely,  it  must  have  escaped 
Knight  that  the  name  of  Macbeth  has  not  yet  been  mentioned  in  this  scene  I  Singer 
{Sh.  Vindicated,  &c.  p.  250)  is  also  a  defender  of  the  old  lection :  *  The  epithet 
**damned"  is  inapplicable  to  quarrel  in  the  sense  which  it  here  bears  of  condemned* 
[which  I  am  convinced  it  does  not  bear  here].  Collier  himself  says  that  quarry 
'gives  an  obvious  and  striking  meaning  much  more  forcible  than  quarrel.*  The 
note  by  Collier  ad  I.  to  which  Singer  approvingly  refers,  is  *///>  damned  quarry,  i.  e. 
His  anny  doomed,  or  damned,  to  become  the  "  quarry"  or  prey  of  his  enemies,'  as 
forced  an  explanation  as  well  can  be,  for  *  his  quarry'  could  only  signify  His  own 
quarry  or  prey. 

Elvvin.  Fortune  smiled,  not  u]X)n  Macdonwald's  quarry,  which  would  necessarily 
denote  his  foe,  but  upon  his  quarrel  only;  and  the  deceitful  smile  that  she  thus 
bestowed  upon  an  illegal  cause  calls  forth  the  aptly  opprobrious  epithet  that  is 
applied  to  her.  No  explanation  can  justify  the  denomination  of  Macdonwald's  army 
as  his  own  quarry. 

Collier  (Note  on  Cor.  I,  i,  202).  *  Quarry*  generally  means  a  heap  of  dead  game, 
and  Bullokar,  in  his  '  English  Expositor'  (as  quoted  by  Malone),  1616,  says  also  that 
*  a  quarry  among  hunters  signifieth  the  reward  given  to  hounds  after  they  have 
hunted,  or  the  venison  which  is  taken  by  hunting.* 

Clarendon.  Fairfax,  in  his  trans,  of  Tasso's  Gerusalemme  Liberata,  uses  *qu-UTy ' 
as  well  as  *  quarrel '  for  the  square-headed  bolt  of  a  cross-bow. 

15.  Show'd]  Malone.  The  meaning  is  that  Fortune,  while  she  smiled  on  him, 
deceived  him. 


r  2  MACBETH,  [act  i,  sc.  ii. 

For  brave  Macbeth, — well  he  deserves  that  name, — 

Disdaining  Fortune,  with  his  brandished  steel. 

Which  smoked  with  bloody  execution, 

Like  valour's  minion,  carved  out  his  passage 

Till  he  faced  the  slave ;  20 

Which  ne'er  shook  hands,  nor  bade  farewell  to  him, 

19.  Like...minion\  One  line,  Steev.  21.  Which  nier]  Rowe  ii.  Which 
Var.  Sing.  Dyce,  Walker,  Sta.  The  rest  nev'r  F^F^F^.  Which  never  F^,  Rowe  i, 
of  the  line  lost,  Ktly  conj.                                Ktly.     Who  ne'er  Pope,  +.     And  ne'er 

carved"]  Rowe  ii.     carv'd  Ff.  Cap.  Steev.  Sing.  Dyce  ii.      When  he 

20.  he]  he  had  Pope,  +,  ( — ^Johns.)         ne'er  Nicholson.* 

Cap.  ^/7rtV]  Steev.  (1778).   badY;^^^, 

slave  /]  slave^  with  Vengeance  at        Cap.     bid  F  ,  Rowe,  + . 
his  side  Ktly  conj.  farezvell]  farwell  F^. 

RiTTER.  Compare  King  John  III,  i,  56.  Because  Fortune  dallied  with  the  rebels 
Macbeth  disdained  her,  and  conquered  not  by  her  aid,  but  as  valour's  minion. 

15.  aU's  too  weak]  Huntkr.  It  should  be  *  all-too-weak,' an  old  idiom  expiring 
in  the  time  of  Sh. ;  that  is,  Fortune  was  all  too-weak ^  a  connection  which  is  lost  in 
the  present  reading. 

Singer  (ed.  2).  Milton  has  all-to-ruffled^  where  all-to  is  merely  augmentative.  I 
doubt  whether  change  is  necessary  here,  as  the  old  reading  is  perfectly  intelligible. 

White.  As,  *  a  certain  woman  cast  a  piece  of  a  millstone  upon  Abimelcch's  head 
and  all-to  brake  his  scull.' — Judges  ix,  53. 

Clarendon.  We  should  have  expected  *  all  was  too  weak.'  The  abbreviation  'j 
for  *  was'  is  not  used  elsewhere  by  Sh.,  nor  does  the  use  of  the  historic  present,  pre- 
ceded and  followed  by  past  tenses,  seem  at  all  probable.     Pope  cut  the  knot. 

19.  Like... minion]  Mitford.  We  consider  '  Disdaining  fortune'  and  *  like  val- 
our's minion'  to  be  two  readings  of  the  same  line.  The  latter  was  written  on  the 
margin  opposilte  to  that  line,  and,  by  the  blunder  of  the  printer,  was  inserted  below. 
We  also  think  this  marginal  reading  to  be  Sh.'s  second  and  better  thought,  and  that 
it  ought  to  stand  in  the  place  of  *  Disdaining  fortune.' 

20.  Tin. ..slave]  Elwin  (p.  iii).  The  abnipt  curtness  of  averse  brings  the  recital 
to  a  sudden  check,  where  the  progress  of  the  combatant  is  temporarily  arrested  by 
the  opposition  of  a  potent  foe;  graphically  imaging  this  phase  of  the  action  recounted, 
and  indicating  the  fitting  pause  to  be  there  observed  by  the  narrator. 

Abbott,  \  511.  Single  lines  with  two  or  three  accents  are  frequently  interspersed 
amid  the  ordinary  verses  of  five  accents.  In  the  present  instance  this  irregular  line 
is  explained  by  the  haste  and  excitement  of  the  speaker.  This  is  also  illustrated  by 
line  42  in  this  same  scene. 

21.  Which  ne'er]  Dyce  (ed.  i).  If  '  Which'  be  right,  it  is  equivalent  to  « Who' 
(/.  e.  Macbeth). 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  ^  Which'  in  the  Folio  was  evidently  repeated,  by  a  mistake  of  the 
scribe  or  compositor,  from  the  commencement  of  the  third  line  above. 

Clarendo.s.  There  is  some  incurable  corruption  of  the  text  here. 

21.  shook  hands]  Clarendon.  Mr  J.  Bullock  suggests,  *And  ne'er  slack'd 
hand.'  As  the  text  stands  the  meaning  is,  Macdonwald  did  not  take  leave  of,  nor 
bid  farewell  to,  his  antagonist  till  Macbeth  had  slain  him.     P'or  '  shake  hands '  in 


ACT  I.  sc.  ii.]  MA  CBETH,  1 3 

Till  he  unseam'd  him  from  the  nave  to  the  chaps,  22 

And  fix'd  his  head  upon  our  battlements. 
Dun,     O  valiant  cousin !  worthy  gentleman ! 

22.     nave\    nape    Warb.    Han.    H.  chap5\  Reed  (1803).     chops  Ff. 

Rowe. 

this  sense,  compare  Lyly's  Euphues,  p.  75,  ed.  Arber:  *  You  haue  made  so  large 
profer  of  your  seruice,  and  so  faire  promises  of  fidelytie,  that  were  I  not  ouer  charie 
of  mine  honestie,  you  woulde  inueigle  me  to  shake  handes  with  chastitie.'  But  it  is 
probable  that  some  words  are  omitted,  and  that  *  Macbeth '  is  the  antecedent  to 
« Which.' 

22.  nave]  Warburton.  We  seldom  hear  of  such  terrible  blows  given  and 
received  but  by  giants  and  miscreants  in  Amadis  de  Gaule.  Besides,  it  must  be  a 
strange  awkward  stroke  that  could  unrip  him  upwards  from  the  navel  to  the  chaps, 
Sh.  certainly  wrote  nape, 

H.  Rowe.  I  should  have  been  sorry  if  any  of  my  puppets  had  used  *nave* 
for  *  nape.'  The  rage  and  hatred  of  Macbeth  [odium  internecinuni)  is  here  finely 
depicted  by  his  not  shaking  hands  with  Macdonel,  or  even  wishing  him  *  farewell ' 
when  dying. 

Steevens.  The  old  reading  is  certainly  the  true  one,  being  justified  by  a  passage 
in  Dido,  Queene  of  Carthage,  by  T.  Nash,  1594 :  *  Then  from  the  navel  to  the  throat 
at  once  He  ript  old  Priam.'  So  likewise  in  an  ancient  MS.  entitled  The  Boke  of 
Huntyng  that  is  cleped  Mayster  of  Game,  cap.  v. :  *  Som  men  haue  sey  hym  slitte  a 
xxizxifro  the  kne  up  to  the  bresty  and  slee  hym  all  starke  dede  at  o  strok.' 

BosWELL.  In  Shad  well's  Libertine  :  •  I  will  rip  yon  from  the  navel  to  the  chin.^ 

Kemule  [Essay  in  Ans^uer  to  Remarks^  &c.  p.  16,  note,  1817).  That  wounds 
may  be  thus  inflicted  is  clear  on  the  authority  of  a  very  ancient,  and  of  a  very 
modern  writer : 

Vedt  come  storpiato  h  Maometto  : 

Dinanzi  a  me  scn'va  piangendo  AH, 

Fesso  ncl  volto  dat  mento  alciuffetto* — Dante.    Inferno,  c.  xxviii,  v.  31. 

Charles  Ewart,  sergeant  of  the  Scots  Greys,  in  describing  his  share  in  the  battle  of 

Waterloo,  thus  writes  in  a  letter  dated  Roucn^  June  18M,  1815  :  * after  which 

I  was  attacked  by  one  of  their  lancers,  who  threw  his  lance  at  me,  but  missed  the 
mark,  by  throwing  it  off  with  my  sword  by  my  right  side ;  then  /  cut  him  from  the 
chin  upwards  J  luhich  went  through  his  ieeth^  &c. —  The  Battle  of  Waterloo,  &c.     By, 
a  Near  Obser^'er,  1 816. 

Maginn  [Sh,  Papers,  p.  172).  If  we  adopt  Warburton's  emendation  the  action 
could  hardly  be  termed  unseaming ;  and  the  wound  is  made  intentionally  horrid  to 
suit  the  character  of  the  play. 

Clarendon.  This  word  is  not  found,  so  far  as  we  know,  in  any  other  passage  for 
•  navel.*  Though  the  two  words  are  etymologically  connected,  their  distinctive  dif- 
ference of  meaning  seems  to  have  been  preserved  from  very  early  times,  nafu  being 
Anglo-Saxon  for  the  one,  and  nafel  for  the  other.  Steevens's  citation  from  Nash 
gives  great  support  to  the  old  reading. 

24.  cousin]  Clarendon.  Macbeth  and  Duncan  were  first  cousins,  being  both 
grandsons  of  King  Malcolm. 

7 


14 


MACBETH. 


[act  I,  sc.  ii. 


Ser,     As  whence  the  sun  'gins  his  reflection 
Shipwrecking  storms  and  direful  thunders  break, 
So  from  that  spring  whence  comfort  seem'd  to  come 
Discomfort  swells.     Mark,  king  of  Scotland,  mark : 
No  sooner  justice  had,  with  valour  arm'd, 
Compell'd  these  skipping  kerns  to  trust  their  heels, 
But  the  Norweyan  lord,  surveying  vantage, 
With  furbish'd  arms  and  new  supplies  of  men. 
Began  a  fresh  assault. 

Dun,  Dismayed  not  this 

Our  captains,  Macbeth  and  Banquo  ? 


30 


25-     ^gi^5\  gins  F,FjF^.    gives  Pope, 
Han. 

reflection^  resiection  Y^. 

26.     Shipwrecking break'\      Burst 

forth  shipwrecking  stortns  and  direful 
thunders  Anon.* 

Shipiurecking"]  Theob.  ii.  Ship- 
wracking  ¥(,  Rowe,  Pope,  Theob.  i, 
Knt,  Sing,  ii,  White. 

thunders  break,"]  Pope.      Thun- 
ders :  F,.      Thunders  breaking  Fj^F^F^. 
28.     Discomfort   swells]    Discomfort 
sweird    Pope,   +.     Discomfort  weird 
Thirlby  (Nich.  Lit.  111.  ii,  228).     Dis- 


comforts weird  Johns.    Discomfit  weird 
Warb.     Discomfott  wells  Cap. 

30.  kerns]  Han.   kernes  Ff.    kermes 
Johns. 

31.  Norweyan]       Norwaying      H. 
Rowe. 

32.  furbish' d]  furbusht  Ff. 

ZZ>  34-     Dismay d,.. this    Our]    Dis- 
mayed... This  oUr  Ktly. 

Dismayed. . .  Banquo  F]  Pope . 
Prose,  Ff.     One  line,  Knt,  Sing.  ii. 

34.     Macbeth]  brave  Macbeth   Han. 
Cap. 

Banquo]  Banquoh  F^F^. 


25.  *gins]  Capell  (N'otes,  vol.  ii,  p.  3).  This  word  is  us'd  for  the  purpose  of 
insinuating  that  storms  in  their  extreamest  degree  succeed  often  to  a  dawn  of  the 
fairest  promise ;  for  in  that  chiefly  lyes  the  aptness  of  his  similitude. 

25.  sun]  Singer  (ed.  2).  The  allusion  is  to  the  storms  that  prevail  in  spring,  at 
the  vernal  equinox — the  equinoctial  gales.  The  beginning  of  the  reflection  of  the 
sun  (Cf.  So  from  that  Spring)  is  the  epoch  of  his  passing  from  the  severe  to  the 
mildest  season,  opening,  however,  with  storms. 

26.  break]  Walker  (Crit.  iii).  Perhaps  burst  would  be  better.  (Or  was  the 
word  threat  ?) 

28.  swells]  Elwin.  The  word  storms  in  the  preceding  line  suggests  the  idea  cf 
a  spring  that  had  brought  only  comfort^  swelling, into  a  destructive  flood. 

Clarendon.  *  Swells'  seems  the  best  word,  indicating  that,  instead  of  a  fertilizing 
stream,  a  desolating  flood  had  poured  from  the  spring. 

30.  skipping]  Clarendon.  An  epithet  appropriate  enough  to  the  rapid  move- 
ments of  the  light-armed  kerns. 

33,  34.  Dismay'd... Banquo]  Douce  (Illust.  &c.  i,  369).  Sh.  had,  no  doubt, 
written  capitaynes^  a  common  mode  of  spelling  in  his  time. 

Knight.  This  line  is  an  Alexandrine — a  verse  constantly  introduced  by  Sh.  for 
the  production  of  variety. 

Elwin.  The  Alexandrine  line  is  here  introduced  to  suit  the  slackened  delivery  of 
dejection^  in  opposition  to  the  more  rapid  exclamation  of  joyous  admiration  to  which 


kcr  I,  sc.  ii.]  MACBETH.  1 5 

Ser.  Yes ; 

As  sparrows  eagles,  or  the  hare  the  lion.  55 

If  I  say  sooth,  I  must  report  they  were 
As  cannons  overcharged  with  double  cracks ; 
So  they  doubly  redoubled  strokes  upon  the  foe ; 
Except  they  meant  to  bathe  in  reeking  wounds, 

34,  35.      Yes ;...lion.'\    Pope.      Two  38.     So  they'\    Separate  line,  Steev. 

lines,  ending  eagles... ly on y  Ff.  Mai.  Rann.  Var.  Sing,  i,  Dyce,  Cam. 

37.     overcharged  with'\  overcharged ;  They  so  Ktly  conj. 

with  Theob.  Han.     chared  with  Sey-  So.,.foe'\  One  line,  Ff,  Rowe,  +, 

mour  (reading  As. ..they  as  one  line).  Cap.   Knt,  Coll.   Hal.   Huds.   Sing,  ii, 

cracks  ;'\  cracks^  ^z^v     crackes  White,  Sta.  Del. 

F,Fj.  Doublyl  om.  Pope,  +. 

37,  38.     As..,they'\    One    line,    Glo.  upon]  on  F^F^F^,  Rowe,  Cap. 

Cla.  39.     reeking']  recking  F^F^ 

Duncan  has  just  before  given  utterance,  whilst  it  at  the  same  time  denotes  (for  to 
preserve  the  full  music  of  the  verse  it  must  be  spoken  without  stop)  that  the  anxiety 
of  the  speaker  forbids  him  to  pause  in  his  question. 

Walker  (Crit.  iii,  171).  Possibly  *Our  captains  twainy  &c.  or  we  should  end 
line  33  with  *  captains.*  Was  captain  ever  pronounced  as  a  trisyllable — capitain — 
in  that  age,  except  by  such  as,  like  Spenser,  affected  old  forms  ? 

l^KTTSO'Si  {Footnote  to  foregoing).  It  would  seem  so  from  the  following:  *The 
king  may  do  much,  captain^  believe  it.' — B.  and  F.  King  and  No  Kingy  IV,  iii. 

*  Captain  Puff,  for  my  last  husband's  sake,*  &c. — Play  of  Ram  Alley y  III,  i.  *  Hold, 
captain  !  What,  do  you  cast  your  whelps  ?' — lb.  [The  following  Lettsom  fur- 
nished to  Dyce  (ed.  2).]  *  I  sent  for  you,  and,  captainy  draw  near.' — B.  and  F. 
Faithful  Friends y  III,  iii.  *  I  hear  another  tune,  good  captain.^ — Fletcher's  Island 
Princess y  II,  iii.  *  Sirrah,  how  dare  you  name  a  captain  f* — Shirley's  Gamestery 
IV,  i. 

34,  35.  Yes. ..lion]  Elwin.  These  lines  are  intended  to  signify,  in  their  division 
in  the  Ff.,  the  failing  powers  of  the  speaker,  who  lingers  upon  each  idea,  and  pauses 
painfully  in  his  speech,  until  he  is  newly  aroused  to  greater  vivacity  by  the  warlike 
character  of  his  own  images,  which  infuse  into  him  a  momentary  strength,  in  the 
exercise  of  which  he  faints. 

37.  overcharged]  Keightley.  We  might,  but  not  so  well  perhaps,  read  *  o'er- 
charg'd.'     [Keightley  prints  *so  they'  as  the  last  syllables  of  a  lost  line.  Ed.] 

Abbott,  J  511.  Probably  we  must  scan  *  As  cannons  |  o'erchkrged  |  .* 

37.  cracks]  Johnson.  That  a  *  cannon  is  charged  with  thunder,'  or  *  with  double 
thunders,'  may  be  written,  not  only  without  nonsense,  but  with  elegance,  and  nothing 
else  is  here  meant  by  crackSy  which  in  Sh.'s  time  was  a  word  of  such  emphasis  and 
dignity  that  in  this  "play  he  terms  the  general  dissolution  of  nature  the  crack  of  doom. 

Malone.  In  the  old  play  of  King  John,  1591,  it  is  applied,  as  here,  to  ordnan^t . 
* as  harmless  and  without  effect  As  is  the  echo  of  a  cannon's  crack? 

38.  Doubly  redoubled]  Steevens.  We  have  the  phrase  in  Rich.  II:  I,  ii',  80. 
From  the  irregularity  of  the  metre  I  believe  we  should  read  (omitting  So  they) 

*  Doubly  redoublingy  &c. 

Walker.   I  suspect  doubly  is  an  interpolation.     It  reminds  me  of  the  wretched 


i6 


MACBETH. 


[act  I,  sc.  ii. 


Or  memorize  another  Golgotha,  40 

I  cannot  tell — 

But  I  am  faint ;  my  gashes  cry  for  help. 

Dun,     So  well  thy  words  become  thee  as  thy  wounds ; 

They  smack  of  honour  both. — Go  get  him  surgeons. 

\Exit  Sergeanty  attended. 
Who  comes  here  ? 

Enter  Ross. 


Mai, 


The  worthy  thane  of  Ross. 


45 


41,  42.  I.,.kelp.'\  Rowe.  Two  lines, 
Ihe  first  ending  faint^  in  Ff. 

41.  tell—'l  Rowe.  tell:  Ff,  Han.  ii. 
Cap.  Steev.  Sing.  Knt,  Dyce. 

42.  help.'\  help —  Rowe,  Pope, 
Han.  i. 

43.  So\  As  H.  Rowe 

44.  [Exit...]  Glo.  Exeunt  Some 
with  the  Soldier.  Cap.  Exit  Soldier, 
attended.  Mai.     om.  Ff. 


45.  Who\  Bat  who  Pope,  +,  Cap. 
Who  isU  Steev.  conj. 

here  F]  here  now?  Ktly. 

Enter  Ross.]  Cap.  After  line  44, 
Steev.  Var.  Knt,  Sing.  After  strange^ 
line  47,  Dyce,  Sta.  Ktly.  Enter  Rosse 
and  Angus,  (after  line  44)  Ff,  Rowe,  +, 
Coll.  Hal.  Huds.  Sing,  ii,  Ktly,  White, 
Del. 


old  Hamlet  of  1603:  *  Shee  as  my  childe  obediently  obey'd  me.*  'For  here  the 
Satyricall  Satyre  writes,*  &c. 

Lettsom.  Note  the  following  similar  examples,  for  which,  I  presume,  we  may 
thank  compositors :  Hen.  V :  IV,  i,  236,  *  great  greatness.*  Dumb  Knight^  H,  i,  *  our 
high  height  of  bliss.*  Shirley,  Coronation^  IV,  i,  *  great  greatness*  (here  the  metre 
demands  the  expulsion  of  great),  Ezekiel,  xx,  47,  *the  flaming  flame  shall  not  be 
quenched  ;*  Sept.  ov  apeaO^aeTai  »J  0Xof  r)  e^atpdiica, 

RiTTER.  Compare  Much  Ado,  I,  i,  16,  'better  bettered  expectation.* 

38.  So... foe]  White.  The  halting  rhythm  of  the  first  part  of  this  line,  its  two 
superfluous  syllables,  and  the  unmitigated  triplication  of  *  double,*  lead  me  to  think 
that  the  greater  part  of  a  line  has  been  lost,  of  which  in  *  so  they  *  we  have  only  the 
first  two  or  last  two  syllables. 

40.  memorize]  Heath.  That  is,  mahe  another  Golgotha,  which  should  be  cele- 
Lrated  and  delivered  down  to  posterity  with  as  frequent  mention  as  the  first. 

Halliwell. 

'  Though  Grecian  seas  or  shores  me  captiv'd  quel'd. 
With  annuall  votes  and  due  solemnities, 
And  altar-decking  gifts,  I'd  memortzt.* — Virgil ,  translated  by  Vicars ,  1632. 

42.  help.]  Coleridge  (p.  240).  The  style  and  rhythm  of  the  captain's  sjeeches 
should  be  illustrated  by  reference  to  the  interlude  in  Hamlet,  m  which  the  epic  is 
substituted  for  the  tragic,  in  order  to  make  the  latter  be  felt  as  the  real-life  diction. 

43.  So]  Abbott,  J  275.  Bearing  in  mind  that  as  is  simply  a  contraction  for 
*all-so*  (*alse,*  *als,*  *as*),  we  shall  not  be  surprised  at  some  interchanging  of  so 
and  as.  We  still  retain  *as...S0y^  but  seldom  use  *so...as,'  preferring  *as...as  ;^  except 
where  so  requires  special  emphasis.     The  Elizabethans  frequently  used  so  before  as. 

Clarendon.  Compare  Cym.  I,  iv,  3. 

45.  Enter  Ross]  Steevens.  As  Ross  alone  is  addressed,  or  is  mentioned,  in 


ACT  I,  sc.  ii.]  MA  CBETH,  I  ^ 

Lett,  What  haste  looks  through  his  eyes !  So  should  he  look 
Tliat  seems  to  speak  things  strange. 

Ross,  God  save  the  king !  47 

Dun.     Whence  earnest  thou,  worthy  thane  ? 

Ross,  From  Fife,  great  king ; 

Where  the  Norweyan  banners  flout  the  sky, 

46.     haste\  Rowc,  +,  Cap.  Walker,  to  Malcolm,  Upton  conj. 

Dyccii,  Huds.   hastY^^^.   ahasteY^,  47.     j^^wj]  r^««  Coll.  ii,  Ktly.   seeks 

etc.  or  deems  Anon.* 

46,47.     So.„strange'\Y{2Xi,  One  line,  49.   flout  the'\  float  V  the  Becket. 

Ff,  Johns.  H.  Rowe,  Knt,  Coll.  Hal.  From.. .cold,  two  lines,  the  first  ending 

Sing,  ii,  White,  Ktly,  Sta.  D?l.     Given  banners  (and  reading  Did  flout)  Ktly. 

this  scene,  and  as  Duncan  expresses  himself  in  the  singular  number,  as  in  line  48, 
Angus  may  be  considered  as  a  superfluous  character.  Had  his  present  appearance 
been  designed,  the  king  would  naturally  have  taken  some  notice  of  him. 

Malone.  In  Sc.  iii.  Angus  says,  *  IVe  are  sent.* 

Elwin.  That  the  whole  attention  of  Duncan,  Malcolm,  and  Lennox  should 
remain  so  engrossed  in  Rosse,  who  first  enters  and  first  attracts  it  by  his  tale  as  to 
make  them  unobservant  of  the  presence  of  Angus,  serves  to  show  the  intense  interest 
which  possesses  them. 

45.  thane]  Clarendon.  From  the  Anglo-Saxon  *]>egen,'  literally,  a  servant,  and 
then,  technically,  the  king's  servant,  defined  to  be  *  an  Anglo-Saxon  nobleman,  infe- 
rior in  rank  to  an  eorl  and  ealdorman*  (Bosworth).  Ultimately  the  rank  of  thegn 
became  equivalent  to  that  of  eorl. 

46.  haste]  Walker  [Crit.  i,  88).  An  instance  where  a  is  interpolated  in  Fj. 
Dyce.  No  doubt  a  is  rightly  omitted  in  F,.     See  Jul.  Cses.  I,  iii,  42, 

46.  should]  Abbott,  J  323.  Should,  the  past  tense,  not  being  so  imperious  as 
shall,  the  present,  is  still  retained  in  the  sense  of  ought,  applying  to  all  three  persons. 
In  the  Elizabethan  authors,  however,  it  was  more  commonly  thus  used,  often  where 
we  should  use  ought.     See  also  I,  iii,  45,  and  V,  v,  31. 

47.  seems]  Johnson.  Sh.  undoubtedly  said  Ueems^  j.  e.  like  one  big  with  some- 
thing of  importance. 

Heath,  p.  376.  That  appears  to  be  upon  the  point  of  speaking  things  strange. 

Collier  {* Notes*  &c.).  If  the  objection  to  'seems*  be  not  hypercritical,  it  is 
entirely  removed  by  the  old  annotator,  who  assures  us  that  comes  has  been  piisprinted 
'seems*  (spelt  seemes  in  the  Folios).  Ross  certainly  came  *  to  speak  things  strange,* 
and  on  his  entrance  looked,  no  doubt,  as  if  he  did. 

Singer  (*Sh.  VindJ*  &c.).  Seems  may  be  received  in  its  usual  sense  of  appears. 

Collier  (ed.  2).  It  is  hardly  intelligible  unless  we  suppose  it  means  seems  to  come, 

Staxjnton.  Compare  I,  v,  27. 

Keightley.  Collier's  (MS.)  reads,  I  think,  rightly.  We  can  hardly  take  *to 
speak '  in  the  sense  of  *  about  to  speak.* 

Bailey  (ii,  21).  Conf.  parallel  passage  in  i  Hen.  IV:  III,  ii,  162. 

Clarendon.  Whose  appearance  corresponds  with  the  strangeness  of  his  message. 
For  the  general  sense  compare  Rich.  II:  III,  ii,  194. 

49.  flout]  Malone.  In  King  John  V,  i,  72  :  ^Mocking  the  air,  with  colours  idly 
spread.'  The  meaning  seems  to  be,  not  that  the  Norweyan  banners  proudly  insulted 
2*  R 


1 8  •     MACBETH.  [acti,  sc.  a. 

And  fan  our  people  cold.     Norway  himself,  50 

With  terrible  numbers, 

Assisted  by  that  most  disloyal  traitor. 

The  thane  of  Cawdor,  began  a  dismal  conflict ; 

Till  that  Bellona's  bridegroom,  lapp'd  in  proof, 

50.  ^«</...^i»iJ^^,]  One  line,  Walk-  terrible  numbers,']  numbers  terri- 
er,  Sing,  ii,  Glo.  Dyce  ii,  Cla.  Huds.  ble,  Pop>e,  +,  Cap.  terrible  numbers, 
And. ..cold.  One  line,  Ff.  etc.  there  Ktly. 

51.  Norway  himself^  Norway,  him-  53.  began]  ^gan  Pope,  +,  Steev. 
j^-yrheob.  Han.  Warb.  Cap.     Norway,  Var.  Sing.  Ktly. 

himself,  Johns. 

the  sky,  but  that,  the  standards  being  taken  by  Duncan's  forces,  and  fixed  in  the 
ground,  the  colours  idly  flapped  about,  serving  only  to  cool  the  conquerors  instead 
of  being  proudly  displayed  by  their  former  possessors. 

Anon.  Gray  has  borrowed  this  thought,  and  even  the  expressions  in  the  lines  of 
lx)th  plays,  Macbeth  and  King  John,  in  his  Ode  *  The  Bard.* 

Elwin.  Rosse,  like  the  sergeant,  describes  the  previous  advantages  of  the  rebels 
in  the  present  tense,  in  order  to  set  the  royal  victory  in  the  strongest  light  of  achieve- 
ment. The  Norweyan  banners  Jloi4t  or  insult  the  sky,  whilst  raised  in  the  pride  of 
expected  victory.  It  refers  to  the  bold  display  of  lawless  ensigns  in  the  face  of 
heaven.     'And  fan,*  &c.  Is  metaphorically  used  for  chill  them  with  apprehension. 

Keightley.  Both  sense  and  metre  require  *Did  flout,*  &c.  The  battle  was  over 
and  the  enemy  was  defeated. 

Clarendon.  *  Flout  the  sky*  seems  better  suited  to  the  banners  of  a  triumphant 
or  defiant  host. 

51.  numbers]  Staunton.  Pope's  transposition  is  prosodically  an  improvement. 
Clarendon.    It  is  impossible  to  reduce  many  lines  of  this  scene  to  regularity 

without  making  unwarrantable  changes. 

52.  Assisted]  Clarendon.  Nothing  is  said  by  Holinshed  of  the  thane  of  Caw- 
dor's having  assisted  the  Norwegian  invaders. 

53.  Cawdor]  See  line  64.  Ed. 

54.  bridegroom]  Henley.  This  passage  may  be  added  to  the  many  others  which 
show  how  little  Sh.  knew  of  ancient  mythology. 

Steevens.  He  might  have  been  misled  by  Holinshed,  who,  p.  567,  speaking  of 
Henry  V,  says :  *  He  declared  that  the  goddesse  of  battell,  called  Bellona^  &c.  &c. 
Sh.,  therefore,  hastily  concluded  that  the  Goddess  of  War  was  wife  to  the  God  of  it. 

Harry  Rowe.  Suidas  is  not  blamed  for  calling  Aristotle  *  Nature's  Secretary.* 

Douce.  Sh.  has  not  called  Macbeth,  to  whom  he  alludes,  the  God  of  war,  and 
there  seems  to  be  no  great  impropriety  in  poetically  supposing  that  a  warlike  hero 
might  be  newly  married  to  the  Goddess  of  War. 

Kemble.  Sh.  calls  Macbeth  himself  Bellond's  Bridegroom,  as  if  he  were,  in  fact, 
honoured  with  the  union,  of  which  Rosse,  in  his  excessive  admiration,  paints  him 
worthy. 

See  Brown  (Autobiog.  Poems,  p.  130)  to  the  same  effect.  Ed. 

Clarendon.  The  phrase  was,  perhaps,  suggested  to  the  writer  by  an  imf>erfect 
recollection  of  Virgil's  itneid,  iii,  319,  *  Et  Bellona  manet  te  pronuba.* 

54.  proof]  Steevens.  That  is,  defended  by  armor  of  proof. 


ACT  I,  sc.  ii.]  MA  CBETH,  1 9 

Confronted  him  with  self-comj>arisons,  55 

Point  against  point  rebellious,  arm  'gainst  arm, 
Curbing  his  lavish  spirit :  and,  to  conclude, 
The  victory  fell  on  us ; — 

Dun.  Great  happiness ! 

Ross,     That  now 
Sweno,  the  Norways*  king,  craves  composition ;  60 

Nor  would  we  deign  him  burial  of  his  men 

55.  comparisons^  caparisons  Daniel.  ing  king,  Ff. 

56.  point  rebellious t  arm\  Theob,  That now...ihe Norway s''\  Now.., 
point,  rebellious  arme  Ff,  Rowe,  Pope,  Norway's  (reading  Now... composition  ^ 
Knt,  Coll.  Hal.  Sing,  ii,  White,  Del.  one  line)  Pope,  + ,  Cap. 

57.  anti]  om.  Pope,  +.  60.     Norways*']  Steev.  (1778).    Nor- 
59,  60.     ThaL^composition"]    As    in        wayes  Ff.     Norway s  Rowe,  +,  Cap. 

Steev.  (1778).    Two  lines,  the  first  end-        Ktly. 

55.  him]  Warburton.  By  him  is  meant  Norway. 

55.  comparisons]  Warburton.  That  is,  gave  him  as  good  as  he  brought, 
showed  he  was  his  equal. 

Capell  {Notes,  ii,  3).  Meeting  him  at  equality;  equal  arms,  equal  valour. 

56.  point]  Knight.  We  think,  with  Tieck,  that  the  comma  is  better  after  this 
word  than  after  *  rebellious.' 

Clarendon.  If  the  old  punctuation  be  right,  *  rebellious,*  being  applied  to  the 
arm  of  the  loyal  combatant,  must  be  taken  to  mean  *  opposing,  resisting  assault.' 
But  *  rebel '  and  its  derivatives  are  used  by  our  author  almost  invariably  in  a  bad 
sense,  as  they  are  used  now. 

57.  lavish]  Clarendon.  That  is,  prodigal,  unbounded  in  the  indulgence  of 
passion,  insolent.  *A  lavish  spirit'  corresponds  nearly  to  the  Greek  Kbpo^,  Com- 
pare 2  Hen.  IV :  IV,  iv,  62. 

59.  That  now]  Elwin.  There  is  no  rest  in  the  sense  at  now.  The  division  of 
ideas  is  at  king  [as  in  the  Folios].  Rosse  first  defines  the  person,  and  then  tells  his 
act.  Besides,  he  designedly  isolates  the  concluding  phrase,  ^craves  composition^  and 
bestows  upon  it  a  prolonged  and  triumphant  emphasis,  in  order  to  announce  the 
declaration  of  submission  with  full  effect. 

Abbott,  \  283.  So  before  that  is  very  frequently  omitted,  as  in  this  instance. 
Compare  I,  vii,  8;  II,  ii,  7;  II,  ii,  23;  IV,  iii,  6;  IV,  iii,  82.  \  511.  We  have, 
rarely,  a  short  line  to  introduce  the  subject. 

60.  Sweno]  Steevens.  The  irregularity  of  the  metre  induces  me  to  believe  that 
Sweno  was  only  a  marginal  reference,  thrust  into  the  text,  and  that  the  line  originally 
read,  *  That  now  the  Norways'  king  craves  composition.*  Could  it  have  been  neces- 
sary for  Rosse  to  tell  Duncan  the  name  of  his  old  enemy,  the  king  of  Norway? 

Clarendon.  There  is  near  Forres  a  remarkable  monument  with  runic  inscrip- 
tions, popularly  called  *  Sweno's  stone,*  and  supposed  to  commemorate  the  defeat  of 
the  Norwegians. 

60.  Norways*]  Clarendon.  Perhaps  we  should  read  *the  Norway  king.*  So  in 
Fairfax's  Tasso,  Bk.  v,  st.  57,  Gemando  is  called  *  the  Norway  prince.' 

Abbott,  J  433.  A  participle  or  adjective,  when  used  as  a  noun,  often  receives  the 
inflection  of  the  possessive  case  or  of  the  plural.     As  here,  if  the  text  be  correct. 


20  MACBETH,  [act  i,  sc.  ii. 

Till  he  disbursed,  at  Saint  Colme's  inch, 
Ten  thousand  dollars  to  our  general  use. 

Dun,     No  more  that  thane  of  Cawdor  shall  deceive 

62.    Cb/wr*j  i/f f^]  Cam.  Colmes^wM        isU  Han.     Colme's  hi/l  Co.!^.     Coltnef 
F,.  Colmes-^j// FjF  F^.  Colmes-kill-fj/(p        inch  Steev.     Colmis-inch  Dyce  ii. 
Pope,  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.     Colmkil- 

62.  Colme's  inch]  Steevens.  Colmes'  is  here  a  dissyllable.  Colmes'-incht  now 
called  Inchcotnb  [or  Inchcolm,  Dyce],  is  a  small  island  lying  in  the  Frith  of  Edin- 
burgh, with  [considerable  remains  of.  Dyce.]  an  Abbey  upon  it,  dedicated  to  St. 
Columb,  called  by  Camden  Inch  Colm^  or  The  Isle  of  Columba,  Some  edd.,  without 
authority,  read  *  Saint  Colmes'-kill  Isle,*  but  very  erroneously,  for  Calmed  Inch  and 
Colm-kill  are  two  different  islands,  the  former  lying  on  the  eastern  coast,  near  the 
place  where  the  Danes  were  defeated,  the  latter  in  the  western  seas,  being  the 
famous  lona,  one  of  the  Hebrides.  Thus  Holinshed  [See  App>endix,  p.  363.  Ed.]. 
Inchf  or  Inshej  in  the  Irish  and  Erse  languages,  signifies  an  Island  [generally  a 
small  one.  Dyce]. 

Clarendon.  A  description  of  this  island  (which  is  about  half  a  mile  long  by  one- 
third  of  a  mile  at  the  broadest)  is  given  in  the  Proceedings  of  the  Society  of  Antiqua- 
ries of  Scotland,  ii,  pp.  489-528. 

63.  dollars]  Clarendon.  A  great  anachronism  is  involved  in  the  mention  of 
dollars  here.  The  dollar  was  first  coined  about  15 18,  in  the  Valley  of  St.  Joachim, 
in  Bohemia,  whence  its  name,  *  Joachim's-thaler  ;*  *  thaler,'  *  dollar.* 

64.  Cawdor]  Johnson  (Obs.),  The  incongruity  of  all  the  passages  in  which  the 
Thane  of  Cawdor  is  mentioned  is  very  remarkable.  Ross  and  Angus  bring  the  king 
an  account  of  the  battle,  and  inform  him  that  Norway,  assisted  by  the  Thane  of 
Cawdor,  *gan  a  dismal  conflict.  It  appears  that  Cawdor  was  taken  prisoner,  for  in 
the  same  scene  the  king  commands  his  present  death.  Yet  though  Cawdor  was  thus 
taken  by  Macbeth,  in  arms  against  his  king,  when  Macbeth  is  saluted,  in  Scene  iv. 
Thane  of  Cawdor,  by  the  Witches,  he  asks,  *  How  of  Cawdor  ?  the  Thane  of  Caw- 
dor lives,  A  prosperous  gentleman,*  and  in  the  next  line  considers  the  promises  that 
he  should  be  Cawdor  and  king  as  equally  unlikely  to  be  accomplished.  How  can 
Macbeth  be  ignorant  of  the  state  of  the  Thane  whom  he  has  just  defeated  and  taken 
prisoner,  or  call  him  a  prosperous  gentleman  who  has  forfeited  his  title  and  life  by 
open  rebellion  ?  He  cannot  be  supposed  to  dissemble,  because  nobody  is  present 
but  Banquo,  who  was  equally  acquainted  with  Cawdor's  treason.  However,  in  the 
next  scene  his  ignorance  still  continues ;  and  when  Ross  and  Angus  present  him 
with  his  new  title,  he  cries  out,  *  The  Thane  of  Cawdor  lives.  Why  do  you  dress,* 
&c.  Ross  and  Angus,  who  were  the  messengers  that  informed  the  king  of  the 
assistance  given  by  Cawdor  to  the  invader,  having  lost,  as  well  as  Macbeth,  all 
memory  of  what  they  had  so  lately  seen  and  related,  make  this  answer  [see  iii,  1 1 1- 
1 14].  Neither  Ross  knew  what  he  had  just  reported,  nor  Macbeth  what  he  had  just 
done.  This  seems  not  to  be  one  of  the  faults  that  are  to  be  imputed  to  transcribers, 
since,  though  the  inconsistency  of  Ross  and  Angus  might  be  removed  by  supposing 
that  their  names  were  erroneously  inserted,  and  that  only  Ross  brought  an  account 
of  the  battle,  and  only  Angus  was  sent  to  Macbeth,  yet  the  forgelfulness  of  Mac- 
beth cannot  be  palliated,  since  what  he  says  could  not  have  been  spoken  by  any 
other. 


ACT  I.  sc.  iii.]  MA  CBETH.  2 1 

Our  bosom  interest. — Go  pronounce  his  present  death,  6$ 

And  with  his  former  title  greet  Macbeth. 

Ross.     I'll  see  it  done. 

Dun,     What  he  hath  lost,  noble  Macbeth  hath  won. 

\Ex€unU 


Scene  III.     A  heath. 

Thunder.     Enter  the  three  Witches. 

First  Witch,     Where  hast  thou  been,  sister  ? 
Sec,  Witch,     Killing  swine. 
Third  Witch,     Sister,  where  thou  ? 
First  Witch,     A  sailor's  wife  had  chestnuts  in  her  lap, 
And    mounch'd,   and    mounch'd,   and    mounch'd.     *  Give   me,' 
quoth  1 :  5 

65.  bosom  interest']  bosom  trust  Cap.  A  heath]  Cap.  The  heath.  Rowe,  +. 
conj.    bosom^s  trust  Anon*  bisson  trust        ...near  Forres.  Glo. 

Anon.*     trusting  boson  \%\€]  Knoxi,'*^  I.  Mf>«]  om.  Steev.  conj. 

go]  om.  Cap.  conj.  3.  Sister]  om.  Steev.  conj. 

present]  om.  Pope,  +,  Steev.  5.  Give...!]   Pope.     Separate  line, 

66.  greet]  great  ¥J^^.  Ff. 

65.  bosom  interest]  Clarendon.  That  is,  close  and  intimate  affection.  Com- 
pare Mer.  of  Ven.  Ill,  iv,  17:  *  Being  tho  bosom-lover  of  my  lord,'  i.e.  being  his 
intimate  friend.  And  Lear,  IV,  v,  26 :  *  I  know  you  are  of  her  bosom,'  i.  e.  in  her 
confidence.  *  Interest'  means  the  due  part  or  share  which  a  friend  has  in  the  affec- 
tions of  another.  Compare  Cym.  I,  iii,  30.  The  meaning  of  the  word  is  further 
illustrated  by  the  use  of  the  verb  in  Lear,  I,  i,  87. 

65.  present]  Clarendon.  That  is,  instant.  So  *  presently'  is  used  for  *  instantly* 
in  conformity  with  its  derivation,  from  which  our  modem  use  of  the  word  departs. 
So  *  by  and  by,'  which  first  meant  *  immediately,'  has  now  come  to  mean  *  after  an 
interval.*  See  Matthew  xiii,  21 :  *  By  and  by  he  is  offended'  (evffbc  CKovdaM^eTcu), 
and  Luke  xxi,  9 :  *  The  end  is  not  by  and  by '  {ovk  evOioc  rb  riXoc).  For  *  present' 
see  Meas.  for  Meas.  IV,  ii,  223,  and  2  Hen.  IV :  IV,  iii,  80.  For  *  presently '  see 
Matthew  xxvi,  53. 

2.  swine]  Steevens.  So,  in  A  Detection  of  Damnable  Driftes  practized  by  Three 

Witches,  &c.  1579 :  * she  came  on  a  tyme  to  the  house  of  one  Robert  Lathburie, 

&c.  who,  dislyking  her  dealyng,  sent  her  home  emptie  ;  but  presently  after  her  depart- 
ure, his  hogges  fell  sicke  and  died ^  to  the  number  of  twentie.' 

Johnson.  Witches  seem  to  have  been  most  suspected  of  malice  against  swine. 
Dr.  Harsnet  observes  that,  about  that  time,  *  a  sow  could  not  be  ill  of  the  measles, 
nor  a  girl  of  the  sullens,  but  some  old  woman  was  charged  with  witchcraft.' 

5.  mounch'd]  Clarendon.  This  means  *  to  chew  with  closed  lips,'  and  is  used 
m  Scotland  in  the  sense  of  *  mumbling  with  toothless  gums,'  as  old  people  do  their 
food.     It  is  probably  derived  from  the  French  manger^  Lat.  manducare. 


22  MACBETH.  [act  i.  sc.  iii. 

*  Aroint  thee,  witch  !*  the  rump-fed  ronyon  cries. 

6.     Aroint  thee\  Aroynt  thee  F^F,.     Anoynt  thee  F  F^.     Aroint  the  Becket. 

5.  quoth]  Clarendon.  From  the  Anglosaxon  'cwse'San,*  to  say,  speak,  of  which 
the  first  and  third  persons,  singular,  preterite  are  'cwaetJ'. 

6.  Aroint]  S.  H.  [Cent,  Mag.  vol.  liv,  p.  73,  1784).  This  is  explained  by  saying 
that  the  Rauntree  or  Rantry  is  in  the  North  considered  as  a  preservation  against 
Witches,  and  it  was  probably  written,  *  I've  Rauntree,  witch,'  or  *  A  Rauntree,  witch !' 

[See  Carr's  Craven  Dialect^  1828.  Ed.] 

H.  RowE.  In  Scotland,  the  rown-tree,  in  England,  the  witchen  tree,  or  mountain 
ash  [Sorbus  aucuparia)^  was  supposed  to  have  the  property  of  driving  away  witches 
and  evil  spirits.  An  ancient  song,  *  The  Laidley  Worm  of  Spindleston  Haughs,' 
has  the  following : 

*  Their  spells  were  vain.    The  hags  retum'd 
To  the  Queen  in  sorrowful  mood, 
Cr^'ing  the  Witches  have  no  power 
Where  there  is  rown-tree  wood.* 

A  rown-tree !  was  certainly  the  answer  angrily  given  to  the  witch  by  the  sailor's 
wife.  Sh.  meant  to  convey  an  idea  of  a  fat,  indolent,  and  unwieldy  sailor's  wife, 
of  which  facsimiles  may,  at  this  day,  be  seen  in  every  sea-port  of  Great  Britain. 
Besides,  her  husband  was  gone  to  Aleppo  *  master  of  the  Tyger,*  a  proof  of  riches 
rather  than  poverty. 

Johnson.  Anoint  [of  F  F^]  conveys  a  sense  very  consistent  with  the  common 
account  of  witches,  who  are  related  to  perform  many  supernatural  acts  by  means  of 
unguents,  and  particularly  to  fly  to  their  hellish  festivals.  In  this  sense  the  phrase 
means  *  Away,  witch,  to  your  infernal  assembly.'  In  Heame's  Ectypa  Varia^  &c. 
1737,  is  a  print,  in  which  a  devil,  who  is  driving  the  damned  before  him,  is  blowing 
a  horn  with  a  label  issuing  from  his  mouth  with  these  words :  •  Out,  out  Arongt,*  of 
which  the  last  is  evidently  the  same  with  aroint. 

Steevens.  *Rynt  you.  Witch !  quoth  Besse  Locket  to  her  mother,'  is  a  north  coun- 
try proverb  [ — Ray's  North  Country  Words ^  p.  52,  ed.  1 768,  ap.  Dyce]%  It  is  used 
again  in  Lear,  III,  iv,  129. 

Nares.  a  word  of  aversion  to  a  witch  or  infernal  spirit ;  some  critics  subjoin  Dii 
averruncent,  the  gods  forefend !  as  if  they  thought  it  might  probably  be  deduced 
from  thence.  A  lady  well  acquainted  with  the  dialect  of  Cheshire  informed  me  that 
it  is  still  in  use  there.  For  example,  if  a  cow  presses  too  close  to  the  maid  who  is 
milking  her,  she  will  give  the  animal  a  push,  saying  at  the  same  time,  ^Roint  thee  P 
by  which  she  means.  Stand  off.  To  this  the  cow  is  so  well  used  that  even  the  word 
is  sufficient,  the  cow  being  in  this  instance  more  learned  than  the  commentators 
on  Sh. 

Singer.  The  French  have  a  phrase  of  somewhat  similar  sound  and  import : — 
*Arry-avant^  Avrsiy  there,  ho !' 

Knight.  It  is  happily  conjectured  by  T.  Rodd  that  it  is  a  compound  of  ar,  or  aer, 
and  hynt;  the  first  a  very  ancient  word  common  to  the  Greek  and  Gothic  languages 
in  the  sense  of  to  go  ;  the  second  derived  from  the  Gothic,  and  still  in  common  use 
under  the  same  form  and  with  the  same  meaning,  hind^  hehindy  &c.  in  English,  and 
hintf  or  hynt,  in  German.  The  use  of  the  phrase  is  probably  derived  from  the 
remarkable  words  used  by  Christ  on  two  occasions :  Cet  thee  behind  me,  Satan ; 
apparently  a  common  phrase  among  the  Jews. 


ACT  I.  sc.  iii.]  MACBETH,  23 

Her  husband's  to  Aleppo  gone,  master  o*  the  Tiger :  7 

TooKE  (Div.  of  Purity t  p.  482,  ed.  1857)  derives  it  from  ronger,  rogner,  royner, 

Richardson  {Dictionary).  Fr.  Ronger ;  Lat.  Rodere^  Rodicare,  Rocare^  Roncare, 
Ronger,  (Menage).  To  gnaw,  knap,  or  nibble  off;  to  fret,  eat,  or  wear  away  (Cot- 
grave).  Aroynt  thee — ^begnawed  thee;  be  thou  gnawed,  eaten,  consumed;  similar 
to  the  common  malediction,  a  plague  take  thee;  a  pock  light  upon  thee. 

Hunter  quotes  from  The  Monthly  Mirror ^  Oct.  1 8 10,  the  use  of  the  word 
*Araunte*  in  a  book  on  Per  kin  Warbeck^  *by  Johanne  Berchyl^  Doctor  0/  Physicke* 
But  Halliwell  {Sh.  Soc.  Papers^  vol.  iii,  p.  38),  Singer  (ed.  2),  and  Dyce  (ed.  2) 
pronounce  this  book  of  Berchyl's  a  forgery. 

White.  Its  etymology  has  not  been  traced,  unless  Wilbraham's  conjecture  that  it 
is  formed  from  *  Arowme  =  Remote ^  deprope^  seorsum^  (Prompt.  Pan/.),  is  correct. 

Halliwell.  It  has  been  thought  that  the  reading  of  F^  is  confirmed  by  a  passage 
in  Ben  Jonson's  Masque  of  Queens :  *  That  she  quickly  anoint  and  come  away.' 
[  Works,  vol.  vii,  p.  1 19,  ed.  Gifford.]  But  as  the  word  is  spelt  aroynt  three  times  in 
the  early  eds.  we  are  not  justified  in  proposing  an  alteration.  Ray's  proverb  [quoted 
by  Steevens]  is  sufficient  and  of  good  authority,  because  he  does  not  app>ear  to  have 
had  the  Sh.*u  word  in  view.  The  connection  between  aroint  and  rynt  being  thus 
established,  it  is  clear  that  the  compound  etymology  proposed  by  Rodd  is  inadmis- 
sible.  A  more  plausible  one  is  given  in  Nares.  The  a  may  have  been  dropped ;  and 
Wilbraham's  conjectural  origin  from  arowma  receives  some  confirmation  from  a  pas- 
sage quoted  in  Collier's  Hist,  Dram,  Poet,  ii,  289,  where  the  form  of  that  word  is 
aroine ;  but  perhaps  we  should  there  read  arome. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  *  This  word  is  still  in  common  use  in  Cheshire,  but  which,  as  the 
term  sounded  in  my  ears  when  I  once  heard  it  pronounced,  I  should  not  have  hesi- 
tated to  spell  aroint,  I  have  also  seen  it  spelled,  and  by  a  Cheshire  man  of  good 
information,  runt ;  nor  is  it  at  all  unlikely  that  it  is  the  same  exclamation  which  in 
Lancashire  is  pronounced  and  spelled  areawt,  as  equivalent  to  get  out  or  away  with 
thee.  But  it  is  most  common  in  the  middle  parts  of  Cheshire.  When  a  cow  hap- 
pens to  stand  too  near  another  cow  or  the  like,  the  milkmaid,  whilst  she  pushes  the 
animal  to  a  more  convenient  place,  seldom  fails  to  exclaim,  *  Aroint  thee,  lovey  (or 
bonny),  aroint  thee.' — Boucher's  Glossary  of  Arch,  and  Prov,  Words,  *Rynt  thee 
is  an  expression  used  by  milkmaids  to  a  cow  when  she  has  been  milked,  to  bid  her 
get  out  of  the  way.  Ash  calls  it  local.' — Wilbraham's  Attempt  at  a  Gloss,  of  some 
Words  used  in  Cheshire. 

Way  [Editor  of  Prompt.  Parv.  Camden  Soc),  The  word  ['Arowme']  occurs  in 
Chaucer,  Book  [sic]  of  Fame,  Bk.  ii,  32 :  « That  I  a-roume  was  in  the  field.' 

6.  rump-fed]  Colepepper.  The  chief  cooks  in  noblemen's  families,  colleges, 
&c.  anciently  claimed  the  emoluments  or  kitchen  fees  of  kidneys,  fat,  rumps,  &c., 
which  they  sold  to  the  poor.  The  weird  sister,  as  an  insult  on  the  poverty  of  the 
woman  who  had  called  her  witch,  reproaches  her  poor  abject  state  as  not  being  able 
to  procure  better  food  than  offal. 

Nares.  This  means,  probably,  nothing  more  than  fed,  or  fattened  in  the  rump. 
It  ir  true  that  fat  flaps,  kidneys,  rumps,  and  other  scraps  were  among  the  low  perqui- 
sites of  the  kitchen ;  but  in  such  an  allusion  there  would  have  been  little  reason  to 
prefer  rumps ;  scrap-fed  would  be  more  natural,  and  kidney-fed,  or  flap-fed,  equal. 
But  fcU-rumped  conveys  a  picture  of  the  person  mentioned,  which  the  others  would 
not  in  any  degree. 


24  MACBETH.  [act  I,  sc.  iiL 

But  in  a  sieve  I'll  thither  sail, 
And,  like  a  rat  without  a  tail, 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  Long  ago  a  friend  of  mine,  who  was  never  at  a  loss  for  an  expla- 
nation, queried, '  Can  rump-fed  mean  "  nut-fed  "  ?  The  sailor's  wife  was  eating  chest- 
nuts.    In  Kilian's  Diet,  is  *'*Rompe.  Nux  myristica  vilior,  cassa,  inanis.** ' 

Clarendon.  Fed  on  the  best  joints,  pampered. 

6.  ronyon]  Grey.  That  is,  a  scabby  or  mangy  woman.     French  ro^eux,  royne, 

scurf.     Thus  Chaucer,  in  The  Romaunt  of  the  Rose,  * her  necke  Withouten 

bleine,  or  scabbe,  or  roim.*  Also  in  Merry  Wives,  IV,  ii,  195,  and  as  an  adjective 
in  As  You  Like  It,  II,  ii,  8. 

7.  Aleppo]  Collier  (ed.  2).  In  Hakluyt's  'Voyages,*  1589  and  1599,  are 
printed  several  letters  and  journals  of  a  voyage  to  Aleppo  in  the  ship  Tiger  of  Lon- 
don, in  1583.     For  this  note  we  are  indebted  to  Sir  W.  C.  Trevelyan,  Bart. 

Clarendon.  An  account  is  given  in  Hakluyt's  Voyages,  vol.  ii,  pp.  247,  251,  of 
a  voyage  by  Ralph  Fitch  and  others  in  a  ship  called  the  Tiger,  to  Tripolis,  whence 
they  went  by  caravan  to  Aleppo,  in  the  year  1583.  In  the  Calendar  of  Domestic 
State  Papers  (1547-1580),  vol.  xxxiii,  53,  under  date  April  13,  1564,  mention  is 
made  of  the  ship  Tiger,  apparently  a  Spanish  vessel.  Sir  Kenelm  Digby,  in  his 
journal,  1628,  mentions  a  ship  called  *  the  Tyger  of  London,  going  for  Scanderone,' 
p.* 45  (Camden  Society).  Sh.  has  elsewhere  given  this  name  to  a  ship:  Twelfth 
Night,  V,  i,  65. 

8.  sieve]  Steevens.  Scott,  in  his  Discovery  of  Witchcraft ^  1584,  says  it  was 
believed  that  witches  <  could  sail  in  an  egg  shell,  a  cockle  or  muscle  shell,  through 
and  under  the  tempestuous  seas.'  Again,  Sir  W.  Davenant  says,  in  his  Albovine, 
1629 :  *  He  sits  like  a  witch  sailing  in  a  sieve.'  Again,  in  *  Newes  from  Scotland: 
Declaring  the  damnable  Life  of  Doctor  Fian,  a  notable  Sorcerer,  who  was  burned  at 
Edenbrough  in  Januarie  last,  1591 ;  which  Doctor  was  Register  to  the  Devill,  that 

sundrie  Times,'  &c *  Discovering  how  they  pretended  to  bewitch  and  drowne  his 

Majestie  in  the  Sea,  comming  from  Denmarke,'  &c.  we  read  [the  following  extract 
is  from  Staunton,  who  gives  it  at  greater  length  than  Steevens.  Ed.]  :  « Item — 
Agnis  Tompson  was  brought  again  before  the  kings  majesty  and  his  council,  and 
1)eing  examined  of  the  meetings  and  detestable  dealings  of  those  witches,  she  con- 
fessed that  upon  the  night  of  AU-hallawn-even  last  she  was  accompanied  as  well 
with  the  persons  aforesaid,  as  also  with  a  great  many  other  witches,  to  the  number  of 
two  hundred,  and  that  they  altogether  went  by  sea,  each  one  in  a  riddle  or  sieve,  and 
went  in  the  same  very  substantially  with  flaggons  of  wine,  making  merry  and  drink- 
ing by  the  way  in  the  same  riddles  or  sieves  to  the  kirk  of  North  Berwick  in  Lothian, 
and  that  after  they  had  landed  they  took  hands  on  the  land  and  danced  this  reel  or 
short  dance,  singing  all  with  one  voice, — 

Commer  goe  ye  before,  commer  goe  ye, 
Gif  you  will  not  goe  before,  commer  let  me  I' 

Clarendon.  In  Greek  irri  ^/?rovf  tzTliv^  *  to  go  to  sea  in  a  sieve,'  was  a  proverbial 
expression  for  an  enterprise  of  extreme  hazard  or  impossible  of  achievement. 

9.  tail]  Steevens.  It  should  be  remembered  (as  it  was  the  belief  of  the  times) 
that  though  a  witch  could  assume  the  form  of  any  animal  she  pleased,  the  tail  would 
still  be  wanting.  The  reason  given  by  some  old  writers  for  such  a  deficiency  is,  that 
though  the  hands  and  feet,  by  an  easy  change,  might  be  converted  into  the  four  paws 


ACT  I,  sc.  ui.]  MACBETH.  25 

I'll  do,  ril  do,  and  Til  do.  10 

Sec,  Witclu     ril  give  thee  a  wind. 

First  Witch,     Thou  art  kind. 

Third  Witch,     And  I  another. 

First  Witch.     I  myself  have  all  the  other; 
And  the  very  ports  they  blow,  1 5 

12.     Thou  aril  Pope.  Tk'artYt  Knt,         Glo.  Cam.  Cla. 
Sing,   ii,  White,   Del.      ThouWt  Cap.  15.    /<?f/f] /MHilf  Pope, +,  Cap. 

of  a  beast,  there  was  still  no  part  about  a  woman  which  corresponded  with  the  length 
of  tail  common  to  almost  all  our  four-footed  creatures. 

Capell  [Notes,  vol.  ii,  p.  4).  Tails  are  the  rudders  of  water-animals,  as  the  *  rat' 
is  occasionally,  so  that  it  is  intimated  in  effect  that  she  would  find  her  port  without 
rudder  as  well  as  sail  in  a  sieve. 

10.  I'll  do]  Clarendon.  She  threatens,  in  the  shape  of  a  rat,  to  gnaw  through 
the  hull  of  the  Tiger  and  make  her  spring  a  leak. 

11.  wind]  Steevens.  This  free  gift  of  a  wind  is  to  be  considered  as  an  act  of 
sisterly  friendship,  for  witches  were  supposed  to  sell  them.  In  Summer's  Last  Will 
and  Testament,  1600: 

'  — —  in  Ireland  and  in  Denmark  both, 
Witches  for  gold  will  sell  a  man  a  wind. 
Which,  in  the  corner  of  a  napkin  wrap'd. 
Shall  blow  him  safe  unto  what  coast  he  will/ 

Drayton,  in  his  Moon-Calf,  says  the  same  [line  865. — Clarendon]. 

Hunter  cites  from  Harrington's  Notes  on  the  xxxviiiM  Book  of  Orlando  Furioso, 
that  the  *  Sorcerers  near  the  North  Sea  use  to  sell  the  wind  to  sailors  in  glasses ;'  and 
from  The  JRusse  Commonwealth,  by  Giles  Fletcher,  1 591,  to  the  effect  that  the  Lap- 
landers give  winds,  *  good  to  their  friends  and  contrary  to  other  whom  they  mean  to 
hurt,  by  tying  of  certain  knots  upon  a  rope  (somewhat  like  to  the  tale  of  Eolus  his 
wind-bag)  ;*  and  also  from  Heywood's  Hierarchy  of  the  Blessed  Angels,  1635,  to  the 
same  purpose. 

Singer  (ed.  2).  The  following  note  m  Braithwaite's  *Two  Lancashire  Lovers* 
shows  the  universality  of  the  notion :  *  The  incomparable  Barclay,  in  his  Mirror  of 
Minde,  cap.  8,  discovering  Norway  to  be  a  rude  nation,  and  with  most  men  who 
have  conversed  or  commerced  with  them,  held  infamous  for  Witchcraft.  They,  by 
report,  saith  he,  "can  sell  Windes,  which  those  that  saile  from  thence  doe  buy, 
equalling  by  a  true  prodigy  the  fabulous  story  of  Ulisses  and  iEolus.  And  these 
Penell  Pngges  [i.  e.  witches  of  the  Pencil  Hills']  have  affirmed  the  like  upon  their 
own  confession."  * 

15.  very]  Johnson.  Probably,  various,  which  might  be  easily  mistaken  for 
*  very,'  being  either  negligently  read,  hastily  pronounced,  or  imperfectly  heard. 

Steevens.  The  very  ports  are  the  exact  ports.  Anciently  to  dloro  sometimes 
means  to  6low  upon.  So  in  Love's  Lab.  Lost,  IV,  iii,  109.  We  say  it  blows  East 
or  West,  without  a  preposition. 

15.  ports]  Clarendon.  *  Orts*  for  *  ports*  seems  probable.  « Ort,*  the  same  word 
as  the' German,  is  found  as  *  art'  in  the  North  of  England  and  <  airt'  in  Scotland. 

Elwin.  That  is,  all  the  points  they  blow  from. 

Anonymous.  We  prtfer  points.  To  blow  a  port  is  a  strange  phrase.  *  I  not  only,' 
3 


26  MACBETH.  [act  I,  sc.  iii. 

All  the  quarters  that  they  know 

r  the  shipman's  card. 

I  will  drain  him  dry  as  hay : 

15,16.    blaw.^know]  know., .blow  AX'  card  to  show,  QoW,  W  (MS), 

len,  MS.  18.     IwUq  Pope.     lie  F,.     rie  F, 

16.  >t«<w]Cap.  >6»<>w,  F,,  Rowe, +.  F.  I'll  F^,  Cap.  Knt,  Coll.  i,  HaJ. 
know.  F.FjF  .  Sing,  ii,  White,  Ktly,  Del. 

17.  card?\    card —    Pope,    Han.   i. 

says  the  witch,  *  have  all  the  other  chief  winds,  but  I  also  possess  an  influence  over 
all  the  different  directions  in  which  they  blow,  according  to  the  points  described  by 
seamen  on  their  card.*  Besides,  her  having  the  ports  would  answer  no  purpose,  for 
the  bark  could  not  be  lost;  she  could  not  prevent  its  arriving  ultimately  at  its  desti- 
nation ;  it  was  only  in  her  power  to  make  it  the  sport  of  the  winds :  tempest-tost. 

17.  card]  Steevens.  This  is  the  paper  on  which  the  winds  are  marked  undex 
the  pilot's  needle ;  or  perhaps  the  sea-chart,  so  called  in  Sh.'s  days. 

Nares.  Hence,  to  speak  by  the  card  meant  to  speak  with  great  exactness,  true  to  u 
point.     See  Hamlet,  V,  i,  149. 

Hunter.  This  is  what  we  now  call  a  chart.  Thus  in  Hakluyt*s  Virginia  Richly 
Valued,  1609,  *  John  Danesco  said  that  he  had  seen  the  sea-card,  and  that  from  the 
place  where  they  were  the  coast  ran  east  and  west  unto,'  &c.  p.  164.  In  Sir  Henry 
Mainwaring's  Seaman^ s  Dictionary,  1 670,  *  a  card,  or  sea-card^  is  said  to  be  *  a  geo- 
graphical description  of  coasts,  with  the  tnie  distances,  heights,  and  courses,  or 
winds,  laid  down  on  it :  not  describing  any  inland,  which  belongs  to  maps.'  p.  20. 

Collier  (Notes,  &c.).  From  line  13  to  17  all  is  rhyme,  but  line  17  has  no  corre- 
sponding line  and  is  evidently  short  of  the  necessary  syllables.  These  are  furnished 
by  the  (MS.),  and  we  can  scarcely  doubt  give  the  words  by  some  carelessness 
omitted. 

Singer  {Sh.'s  Text  Vindicated).  Evidently  no  rhyme  was  intended,  for  the  word 
know  already  rhymes  with  to  *  blow  *  in  the  preceding  line. 

Dyce  (ed.  i).  In  four  other  places  in  this  scene  we  have  lines  without  any  rhyme : 
U.  10,  26,  34,  and  37. 

White.  That  is,  his  chart,  which  rightfully  should  be  pronounced  cart,  the  ch  as 
in  charta. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  *A  Sea-card,  charta  marina.'' — Coles's  Lat.  and  Eng,  Diet,  I 
find  in  Sylvester's  Du  Barias,  *  Sure,  if  my  Card  and  Compasse  doe  not  fail.  Ware 
neer  the  Port.* — The  Triumph  of  Faith,  p.  256,  ed.  1 641,  where  the  original  has 
*mon  Quadrant  et  ma  Carte  marine.' 

Halliwell.  The  compass,  or  here,  perhaps,  the  paper  on  which  the  points  of 

the  wind  are  marked.     The  term  occurs  in  the  same  sense  in  the  Loyal  Subject,  ed. 

Dyce,  p.  56. 

'  The  card  of  goodness  in  your  minds,  that  shews  ye 

When  ye  sail  false ;  the  needle  touch'd  with  honour, 

That  through  the  blackest  storms  still  points  at  happiness ;'  &c. 

Clarendon.  In  Spenser,  Fairy  Queen,  ii,  7,  6 :  *  Upon  his  card  and  compass 
firmes  his  eye.'  And  Pope,  Essay  on  Man,  ii,  108 :  *  On  life's  vast  ocean  diversely 
we  sail.  Reason  the  card,  but  passion  is  the  gale.' 

18.  hay]  Hunter.  This,  it  was  believed,  it  was  in  the  power  of  witches  to  do, 
as  may  be  seen  in  any  of  the  narratives  of  the  cases  of  witchcraft. 


ACT  I,  sc.  iii.]  MA  CBETH.  2  ^ 

Sleep  shall  neither  night  nor  day 

Hang  upon  his  pent-house  lid ;  20 

He  shall  live  a  man  forbid : 

Weary  se*nnights  nine  times  nine 

Shall  he  dwindle,  peak,  and  pine : 

22.     se'nnights]  Seu' nights  Ff.   seven-nights  Steev.  ( 1773,  »778»  ^785),  Rann,  Dyce. 

20.  pent-house]  Malone.  In  Decker's  Gull's  Home-book  [p.  79  of  the  Reprint, 
1 81 2. — Clarendon]  :  *The  two  eyes  are  the  glasse  windowes,  at  which  light  dis- 
perses itself  into  every  roome,  having  goodlie  pent-houses  of  haire  to  overshaddow 
them.*  So  in  David  and  Goliah,  by  Drayton,  1.  373 :  *  His  brows,  like  two  steep 
penthouses,  hung  down  Over  his  eyelids.* 

Halliwell.  *  Without  money  how  is  a  man  unman'd  ?  How  mellancholly  doth 
he  sit  with  his  hat  like  a  pent- house  over  the  shop  of  his  eyes* — Poor  Robin*  s  Hue  and 
Cry  after  Money ,  1689. 

Clarendon.  In  the  present  passage  the  eyelid  is  so  called  without  any  reference 
to  the  eyebrow,  simply  because  it  slopes  like  the  roof  of  a  pent-house  or  lean-to. 
*  Pent-house'  is  a  corruption  of  the  French  appentis^  an  appendage  to  a  house,- an 
out-house.  So  we  have  *  cray-fish  *  from  icrevisse,  and  *  causeway  *  from  chatissie. 
It  is  used  in  the  sense  of  the  Latin  testudo  in  Fairfax's  Tasso,  Bk.  xi,  st.  33 :  *  And 
o'er  their  heads  an  iron  penthouse  vast  They  built  by  joining  many  a  shield  and 
targe.* 

21.  forbid]  Theobald.  As  under  a  curse,  an  interdiction.     So  IV,  iii,  107. 
Johnson.  To  did  is  originally  to  pray.     As  to  fordid,  therefore,  implies  to  pro- 

hibit,  in  opposition  to  the  word  bid  in  its  present  sense,  it  signifies,  by  the  same  kind 
of  opposition,  to  curse,  when  it  is  derived  from  the  same  word  in  its  primitive 
meaning. 

Steevens.  a  forbodin  fellow,  Scottici,  signifies  an  unhappy  one. 

Singer.  That  is,  forspoken,  unhappy,  charmed,  or  bewitched.  Theobald's  and 
Johnson's  explanation  is  erroneous. 

Dyce  (Gloss.).  Under  a  curse,  forspoken,  bewitched. 

23.  dwindle]  Steevens.  This  mischief  was  supposed  to  be  done  by  means  of  a 
Vi  axen  figure,  representing  the  person  to  be  consumed  by  slow  degrees.  In  Web- 
ster's Duchess  of  Malfy,  IV,  i  [p.  262,  Dyce's  ed.  1830]  : 

* k  wattes  mc  more 

Than  wer*t  my  picture,  fashlon'd  out  of  wax. 
Stuck  with  a  magical  needle,  and  then  buried 
In  some  foul  dung-hill.' 

[See  Appendix,  pp.  356,  357.  Ed.] 

Staunton.  In  Scot's  Discoverie  of  Witchcraft  there  is  *A  charme  teaching  how  to 
hurt  whom  you  list  with  images  of  wax,  &c.  Make  an  image  in  his  name,  whom 
you  would  hurt  or  kill,  of  new  virgine  wax ;  under  the  right  arme-poke  whereof 
place  a  swallow's  heart,  and  the  liver  under  the  left ;  then  hang  about  the  neck 
thereof  a  new  thred  in  a  new  needle  pricked  into  the  member  which  you  would  have 
hurt,  with  the  rehearsall  of  certain  words,*  &c. 

23.  pine]  White.  Pining  away,  the  disease  now  known  as  marasmus,  was  one 
of  the  evils  most  commonly  attributed  to  witchcraft ;  because  by  the  inferior  patho- 
logical knowledge  of  the  days  when  witches  were  believed  in,  it  could  be  attributed 
to  xu)  physiological  cause. 


28  MACBETH.  [act  i.  sc.  ui. 

Though  his  bark  cannot  be  lost, 

Yet  it  shall  be  tempest-tost  25 

Look  what  I  have. 

Sec,  Witch,     Show  me,  show  me. 

First  Witch,     Here  I  have  a  pilot's  thumb, 
Wrecked  as  homeward  he  did  come.  \prufn  within. 

Third  Witch,     A  drum,  a  drum !  30 

Macbeth  doth  come. 

A//,     The  weird  sisters,  hand  in  hand, 

29.      JVre^Jk^J']   Theob.   ii.      Wrackt  32.     wnrd'\7uelrd  Thtoh.    weyward 

Ff.     Wrack' d  Knt,  Sing,  ii,  White.  Ff,  Rowe,  +.     weyard  Ktly. 

Clarendon.  See  Rich.  Ill :  III,  iv,  70.     We  have  *  peak'  in  Ham.  II,  ii,  594. 

25.  tempest-tost]  Steevens.  In  Nnvesfrom  Scotland,  already  quoted ;  *  Againe 
it  is  confessed,  that  the  said  christened  cat  was  the  cause  of  the  Kinges  Alajcsties 
shippe,  at  his  coming  forthe  of  Denmarkcy  had  a  contrarie  winde  to  the  rest  of  the 
shippes  then  beeing  in  his  companie,  which  thing  was  most  straunge  and  true,  as  the 
Kinges  Majestie  acknowledgeth,  for  when  the  rest  of  the  shippes  had  a  faire  and 
good  winde,  then  was  the  winde  contrarie  and  altogether  against  his  Majestie.' 

32.  The. ..hand]  Seymour.  It  hxis  been  suggested  by  Mr.  Strutt  that  the  play 
should  properly  begin  here;  and,  indeed,  all  that  has  preceded  might  well  be 
omitted.  Rosse  and  Angus  express  everything  material  that  is  contained  in  the 
third  scene ;  and  as  Macbeth  is  the  great  object  of  the  witches,  all  that  we  hear  of 
the  sailor  and  his  wife  is  rather  ludicrous  and  impertinent  than  solemn  and  material. 
I  strongly  suspect  it  is  spurious. 

C.  LoFFT.  The  play  would  certainly  begin  much  more  dramatically  at  this  line, 
or  preferably,  I  think,  a  line  higher.  *  Macbeth  doth  come !'  uttered  with  solemn 
horror  by  one  of  the  prophetic  sisters,  would  immediately  fix  and  appropriate  the 
incantation,  and  give  it  an  awful  dignity  by  determining  its  reference  to  the  great 
object  of  the  play. 

32.  weird]  Theobald.  This  word  [wayward],  in  general,  signifies  perverse, 
f reward,  moody,  &c.,  and  is  everywhere  so  used  by  Sh.,  as  in  Two  Cent,  of  Ver., 
Love  5  Lab.  Lost,  and  Macbeth.  It  is  improbable  the  Witches  would  adopt  this  epi- 
thet to  themselves  in  any  of  these  senses.  When  I  had  the  first  suspicion  of  our 
author's  being  corrupt  in  this  place,  it  brought  to  mind  this  passage  in  Chaucer's 
Troilus  and  Cresseide,  iii,  618 :  *  But,  O  Fortune,  executrix  of  wierdes^  which  word 
the  Glossaries  expound  to  us  by  Fates  or  Destinies.  My  suspicion  was  soon  con- 
firmed by  happening  to  dip  into  Heylin's  Cosmography,  where  he  makes  a  short 
recital  of  the  story  of  Macbeth  and  Banquo  :  *  These  two  travelling  together  through 
a  Forest  were  met  by  three  Fairies,  Witches,  Wifrds,  the  Scots  call  them,'  &c.  I 
presently  recollected  that  this  story  must  be  recorded  at  more  length  by  Holingshead, 
with  whom  I  thought  it  was  very  probable  that  our  author  had  traded  for  the  mate- 
rials of  his  tragedy,  and  therefore  confirmation  was  to  be  fetch'd  from  this  fountain. 
Accordingly,  looking  into  his  History  of  Scotland,  I  found  the  writer  very  prolix 
and  express,  from  Hector  Boethius,  in  this  remarkable  story;  and  in  p.  170,  speak- 
ing of  these  Witches,  he  uses  this  expression :  *  But  afterwards  the  common  opinicn 
was,  that  these  women  were  either  the  weird  Sisters,  that  is,  as  ye  would  say,  the 


ACT  I.  sc.  iii.]  MA  CBETH.  2  9 

Posters  of  the  sea  and  land, 

Thus  do  go  about,  about : 

Thrice  to  thine,  and  thrice  to  mine,  35 

And  thrice  again,  to  make  up  nine. 

35.     TAHce]  ThiceY^, 

Goddesses  of  Destiny^  &c.  Again :  *  The  words  of  the  three  weird  sisters  also  (of 
whom  ye  have  heard)  greatly  encouraged  him  thereunto.*  I  believe  by  this  time  it 
is  plain,  beyond  a  doubt,  that  the  word  Wayward  has  obtain' d  in  Macbeth,  where 
the  witches  are  spoken  of  from  the  ignorance  of  the  Copyists,  and  that  in  every  pas- 
sage where  there  is  any  relation  to  these  Witches  or  Wizards  my  emendation  must 
be  embraced,  and  we  must  read  weird, 

Steevens.  From  the  Saxon  wyrd^  fatum.  Gawin  Douglas  translates  *  Prohibent 
nam  cetera  parca  Scire*  (^En.  iii,  379)  by  *  The  weird  sisteris  defendis  that  suld  be 
wit.* — p.  80. 

Malone.  *  Be  aventure  Makbeth  and  Banquho  were  passand  to  Fores,  quhair 
kyng  Duncane  hapnit  to  be  for  ye  tyme,  and  met  be  ye  gait  thre  women  clothit  in 
elrage  and  uncouth  weid.  They  wer  jugit  be  the  pepill  to  be  weird  sisters.'' — Bel- 
lenden's  trans,  of  Hector  Boethius. 

Nares.  In  *  The  Birth  of  Saint  George  *  it  means  a  witch  or  enchantress  :  *  To  the 
weird  lady  of  the  woods.* — Percy's  Rel.  iii,  p.  221. 

Knight.  We  cannot  agree  with  Tieck  that  the  word  is  wayward — ^wilful.  The 
word  is  written  weyward  in  the  original  to  mark  that  it  consists  of  two  syllables. 

Dyce  (/^emarhs,  &.C.).  In  Ortus  Vocabulorum,  l^i^^vtt  find:  *  Cloto...anglice, 
one  of  the  thre  wyrde  systers.^ 

Hunter  [*New  IliusJ*  ii,  162).  There  is  no  just  pretence  for  supplanting  *  way- 
ward* and  substituting  'weird.*  *  Weird'  may  be  the  more  proper — the  more  sci- 
entific term ;  it  may  come  nearer  the  etymological  root,  it  may  be  the  derivative 
of  some  ancient  root  of  word^  osfatum  of  ybr,  and  *  wayward*  may  suggest  an  erro- 
neous origin  and  a  wrong  meaning,  since  we  have  the  word  *  wayward '  in  a  well- 
known  sense ;  but  notwithstanding  this,  an  editor  ought  not  to  think  himself  at  lib- 
erty to  print  *  weird,'  the  author  having  written  wayward,  to  the  manifest  injury  of 
the  verse,  though  the  facts  just  named  would  form  a  very  proper  subject  for  a  note, 
in  which  we  were  to  be  informed  who  and  what  the  wayward  sisters  were,  and  why 
they  were  so  designated.  Sh.  is  by  no  means  peculiar  in  writing  *  wayward.*  Hey- 
wood,  in  his  The  Late  Witches  of  Lancashire^  has,  *  You  look  like  one  of  the  Scot- 
tish wayward  sisters.* 

White.  This  word  should  be  pronounced  wayrd  {ei  as  in  *  obeisance,*  *  freight,* 
•  weight,'  *  either,*  *  neither*)  and  not  weerdy  as  it  usually  is. 

Clarendon.  *  Weird*  is  given  in  Jamieson's  Scottish  Dictionary  as  a  verb,  to 
determine  or  assign  as  one's  fate,  also  to  predict.  He  gives  also  *  weirdly,*  i .  e. 
happy,  and  *  weirdless,'  t.  e,  unhappy. 

34.  Thus. ..nine]  Clarendon.  They  here  take  hold  of  hands  and  dance  round 
in  a  ring  nine  times,  three  rounds  for  each  witch.  Multiples  of  three  and  nine  were 
specially  affected  by  witches  ancient  and  modem.  See  Ovid,  Metam.  xiv,  58 :  *  Ter 
novies  carmen  magico  demurmurat  ore,*  and  vii,  189-191 :  *Ter  se  convertit;  ter 
sumptis  flumine  crinem  Irroravit  aquis ;  temis  ululatibus  ora  Solvit.* 

36.  Knight.  There  really  appears  no  foundation  for  Steevens*s  supposition 
that  this  scene  was  uniformly  metrical.     It  is  a  mixture  of  blank -verse  with  the 


30  AfA  CBETH.  [act  i.  sc.  iii 

Peace !  the  charm's  wound  up. 

Enter  Macbeth  and  Banquo. 

Macb,     So  foul  and  fair  a  day  I  have  not  seen. 

Ban,     How  far  is't  call'd  to  Forres  ?     What  are  these 
So  wither'd,  and  so  wild  in  their  attire,  40 

That  look  not  like  the  inhabitants  o*  the  earth, 
And  yet  are  on*t  ? — Live  you  ?  or  are  you  aught 
That  man  may  question  ?     You  seem  to  understand  me, 
By  each  at  once  her  choppy  finger  laying 

Upon  her  skinny  lips  :  you  should  be  women,  45 

And  yet  your  beards  forbid  me  to  interpret 

37.  Banquo.]  Banquo,  with  Soldiers  +.  A?rf>  Ff,  Rowe.  /br«  Coll.  (MS), 
and  other  Attendants.  Rowe, +.  Ban-  41.  the  inhabitants  o*  the]  inhabit- 
quo,  journeying ;  Soldiers,  and  Others,        ants  of  Pope,  Han. 

at  a  Distance.  Cap.  44.     choppy]  chappy  Coll.  Dyce,  Glo. 

38.  Scene  i v.  Pope,  + .  White. 

39.  Forres]  H.  Rowe.    Foris  Pope, 

seven-syllable  rhyme,  producing  from  its  variety  a  wild  and  solemn  effect  which  no 
regularity  could  have  achieved.  *  Where. „swine^  [lines  i  and  2]  is  a  line  of  blank 
verse;  line  3  is  a  dramatic  hemistich.  We  have  then  four  lines  of  blank  verse 
before  the  lyrical  movement,  *  But  in  a  sieve,'  &c.  *I^ii... another*  [11-13]  is  a 
ten-syllable  line  rhyming  with  the  following  octo-syllabic  line.  So,  in  the  same 
manner,  /*  the... hay :  is  a  ten-syllable  line,  rhyming  with  the  following  one  of 
seven  syllables. 

38.  foul  and  fair]  Elwin.  Foul  with  regard  to  the  weather^  and  fair  with  refer- 
ence to  his  victory. 

Delius.  Macbeth  enters  engaged  in  talking  with  Banquo  about  the  varying  for- 
tune of  the  day  of  battle  which  they  had  just  experienced.  *  Day*  as  equivalent  to 
*  day  of  battle  *  was  frequently  used. 

Clarendon.  A  day  changing  so  suddenly  from  fine  to  stormy,  the  storm  being  the 
work  of  witchcraft. 

39.  Forres]  Clarendon.  Forres  is  near  the  Moray  Frith,  about  halfway  between 
Elgin  and  Nairn. 

40.  withered]  Davies  (ii,  75).  When  James  I.  asked  Sir  John  Harrington, «  Why 
the  devil  did  work  more  with  ancient  women  than  others  ?'  Sir  John  replied  :  *  We 
were  taught  hereof  in  Scripture,  where,  it  is  told,  that  the  devil  walketh  in  dry 
places* 

43.  question]  Johnson.  Are  ye  any  beings  with  which  man  is  permitted  to  hold 
converse,  or  of  whom  it  is  lawful  to  ask  questions  ? 

Hunter.  To  me  it  appears  to  mean.  Are  you  beings  capable  of  hearing  questions 
put  to  you,  and  of  returning  answers  ?  And  with  this  meaning  what  Banquo  next 
says  is  more  congruous. 

45.  should]  See  I,  ii,  46. 

46.  beards]  Staunton.  Witches,  according  to  the  popular  belief,  were  always 

bearded.     So  in  *  The  Honest  Man's  Fortune,'  H,  i:  * and  the  women  that 

Come  to  us,  for  disguises  must  wear  beards;  And  that's  to  say,  a  token  of  a  witch* 


ACTI,  SC.  iu.l  MACBETH.  31 

That  you  are  so. 

Macb.  Speak,  if  you  can :  what  are  you  ? 

First  Witch,     All  hail,  Macbeth !  hail  to  thee,  thane  of  Glamis  1 

Sec,  Witch,     All  hail,  Macbeth  !  hail  to  thee,  thane  of  Cawdor ! 

Third  Witch,     All  hail,  Macbeth,  that  shalt  be  king  hereafter! 

Ban,     Good  sir,  why  do  you  start,  and  seem  to  fear  5 1 

Things  that  do  sound  so  fair? — I'  the  name  of  truth, 
Are  ye  fantastical,  or  that  indeed 
Which  outwardly  ye  show  ?     My  noble  partner 
Vou  greet  with  present  grace  and  great  prediction  55 

Of  noble  having,  and  of  royal  hope. 
That  he  seems  rapt  withal :  to  me  you  speak  not : 

50.     that  shaltl  thou  shalt  H.  Rowe,  52.     [To  the  Witches.  Rowe,  +. 

Glo.  57.     rapf^  Pope,     wrapt  Ff. 

48.  Glamis]  Seymour.  This  is,  in  Scotland,  always  pronounced  as  a  monosylla- 
ble, with  the  open  sound  of  the  first  vowel,  as  in  alms.  The  four  lines  [I,  v,  13, 
I,  V,  52,  II,  ii,  42,  and  III,  i,  i]  appear  to  exhibit  the  word  as  a  dissyllable,  a  mistake 
somewhat  similar  to  that  by  which,  in  Ireland,  James  and  Charles  are  so  extended — 
Jam^  and  CharUs. 

Steevens.  The  thaneship  of  Glamis  was  the  ancient  inheritance  of  Macbeth's 
family.  The  castle  where  they  lived  is  still  standing.  See  a  particular  description 
of  it  in  Gray's  letter  to  Dr.  Wharton,  dated  from  Glames  Castle. 

53.  fantastical]  Johnson.  That  is,  creatures  of  fantasy  or  imagination. 

[See  Holinshed.     Appendix,  p.  363.  Ed.] 

53.  ye]  Abbott,  \  236.  In  the  original  form  of  the  language  ye  is  nominative, 
you  accusative.  This  distinction,  however,  though  observed  in  our  version  of  the 
Bible,  was  disregarded  by  Elizabethan  authors,  and  ye  seems  to  be  generally  used  in 
questions,  entreaties,  and  rhetorical  appeals.  Ben  Jonson  says :  *  The  second  person 
plural  is  for  reverence  sake  to  some  singular  thing.'     See  lines  54,  55,  57,  58. 

55.  present  g^ace]  Hunter.  There  is  here  a  skilful  reference  to  the  thrice 
repeated  *Hail'  of  the  witches.  *  Thane  of  Glamis*  he  was;  that  is  the  'present 
grace;*  but  'Thane  of  Cawdor*  was  only  predicted;  this  is  the  'noble  having;*  the 
prospect  of  royalty  is  only  *  hope,'  *  of  royal  hope.* 

56.  having]  Steevens.  'Y\i2X  \Sy  estate ^  possession^  fortune.  See  Twelfth  N.  Ill, 
iv,  379.     Merry  Wives,  III,  ii,  73. 

Clarendon.  In  IV,  iii,  81,  where  we  read  *  my  more-having,*  so  hyphened  in  the 
folio,  'having*  is  not  a  substantive. 

Upton  (p.  300)  gives  this  as  an  instance  of  Sh.'s  knowledge  of  Greek,  in  that  it 
is  equivalent  to  1%^^^*  hahentin.  Farmer  (p.  19,  ed.  2)  contradicts,  and  shows  that 
it  was  common  language  of  Sh.'s  time.  Ed. 

57.  rapt]  Steevens.  That  is,  rapturously  affected^  extra  se  raptus. 
Clarendon.    F,  is  by  no  means  consistent  in  the  spelling  of  this  word.     In 

Timon,  I,  i,  19,  it  has  « rapt.'  Of  course  from  its  etymology,  rapere^  raptuSy  it 
should  be  spelt  *  rapt,*  but  the  wrong  spelling  was  used  even  by  Locke  (as  quoted 
by  Johnson). 


32 


MACBETH. 


[act  I,  sc.  ill. 


If  you  can  look  into  the  seeds  of  time, 

And  say  which  grain  will  grow  and  which  will  not, 

Speak  then  to  me,  who  neither  beg  nor  fear  60 

Your  favours  nor  your  hate. 

First  Witch.     Hail ! 

S€c,  Witch.     Hail! 

Third  Witch.     Hail ! 

First  Witch.     Lesser  than  Macbeth,  and  greater.  65 

Sec.  Witch.     Not  so  happy,  yet  much  happier. 

Third  Witch.     Thou  shalt  get  kings,  though  thou  be  none : 
So  all  hail,  Macbeth  and  Banquo  I 

First  Witch.     Banquo  and  Macbeth,  all  hail ! 

Macb.     Stay,  you  imperfect  speakers,  tell  me  more :  70 

By  Sinel's  death  I  know  I  am  thane  of  Glamis ; 
But  how  of  Cawdor?  the  thane  of  Cawdor  lives, 
A  prosperous  gentleman ;  and  to  be  king 
Stands  not  within  the  prospect  of  belief. 
No  more  than  to  be  Cawdor.     Say  from  whence  75 


59.     not'\  rot  Person  conj.  MS.* 
65,75-     Mfl«]  Mr»  F^F.Fj. 
68.     S6\  om.  Pope,  Han. 


69.     First  Witch.]  I.  Ff.     I,  2.  Cap. 
71.     /  am'\  I*m  Pope,  +,  Dyce  ii, 
Huds. 


67.  Thou. ..none]  French  (p.  291).  Banquo  and  Fleance,  though  named  by 
Holinshed,  followed  by  Sh.,  are  now  considered  by  the  best  authors  to  be  altogether 
fictitious  personages.  Chalmers  says,  *  History  knows  nothing  of  Banquo,  the  thane 
of  Lochaber,  nor  of  Fleance  his  son.*  Sir  Walter  Scott  observes  that  *  early  authori- 
ties show  us  no  such  persons  as  Banquo  and  his  son  Fleance ;  nor  have  we  reason 
to  think  that  the  latter  ever  fled  further  from  Macbeth  than  across  the  flat  scene 
according  to  the  stage  direction.  Neither  were  Banquo  and  his  son  ancestors  of  the 
house  of  Stuart.*  Yet  modem  *  Peerages*  and  *  Genealogical  Charts*  still  retain  the 
names  of  Banquo  and  Fleance  in  the  pedigree  of  the  Royal  Houses  of  Scotland  and 
England.     [The  genealogy  of  the  Stuarts  follows.  Ed.] 

68,  69.  So.. .hail !]  Lettsom  (ap.  Dyce  ii).  These  two  verses  should  be  pro- 
nounced by  I,  2,  3,  in  chorus. 

71.  Sinel]  Pope.  The  father  of  Macbeth. 

RiTSON.  His  true  name  was  Finleg,  corrupted,  perhaps  typographically,  to  SyntU 
in  Hector  Boethius,  from  whom  it  came  to  Holinshed. 

Boswell.  Dr.  Beattie  conjectured  that  the  real  name  of  the  family  was  Sinane, 
and  that  Dunsinane^  or  the  hill  of  Sinanty  from  thence  derived  its  appellation. 

Clarendon.  In  Fordun's  Scotichronicon,  Bk.  iv,  ch.  44,  Macbeth  is  called 
*  Machabeus  filius  Finele.' 

Herrig  says  *  By  Sinel*s  death*  is  not  an  adjuration  [!] 

74.  belief]  Clarendon.  'The  eye  of  honour,*  Mer.  of  Ven.  I,  i,  137,  is  a 
somewhat  similar  phrase.     Compare  also  *  scope  of  nature,*  King  John,  III,  iv,  154. 


ACT  I,  sc.  iii.]  MACBETH.  33 

You  owe  this  strange  intelligence  ?  or  why 

Upon  this  blasted  heath  you  stop  our  way 

With  such  prophetic  greeting  ?     Speak,  I  charge  you. 

\Witches  vanish. 

Ban.     The  earth  hath  bubbles  as  the  water  has, 
And  these  are  of  them :  whither  are  they  vanished  ?  80 

Macb.     Into  the  air,  and  what  seem'd  corporal  melted 
As  breath  into  the  wind.     Would  they  had  stayed ! 

Ban.     Were  such  things  here  as  we  do  speak  about? 
Or  have  we  eaten  on  the  insane  root 

78.     Pope.     Two  lines,  Ff.  84.     on\   of  F^,    Rowe,   + ,   Steev. 

81,82.     Cap.  Three  lines,  ending  <r^r-         Rann,  Var.  Sing.  i.     0*  Cap. 
poraii,.,.wiHde...siayd,  in  Ff,  Rowe,  +. 

80.  of  them]  Clarendon.  For  an  instance  of  the  preposition  *of'  thus  used 
partitively  see  Bacon's  Essays,  « Of  Atheism,'  p.  65,  ed.  Wright :  *  You  shall  have 
of  them,  that  will  suffer  for  Atheisme,  and  not  recant.' 

81.  corporal]  Clarendon.  Sh.  always  uses  the  form  'corporal*  as  in  I,  vii,  80. 
Milton  has  both  forms,  as  in  Par.  Lost,  iv,  585 :  *  To  exclude  Spiritual  substance 
with  corporeal  bar.'  And  in  Samson  Agonistes,  616:  'Though  void  of  corporal 
sense.*  In  Par.  Lost,  v,  413,  the  original  edition,  1667,  has  'corporeal*  where 
clearly  we  should  read  *  corporal ;'  *  And  corporeal  to  incorporeal  turn.'  Sh.  has 
*  incorporal*  once,  viz. :  in  Ham.  Ill,  iv,  n8.     He  never  uses  *  incorporeal.* 

81.  melted]  Elwin.  The  emphasis  should  be  laid  upon  *  seem'd,*  and  the  divi- 
sion of  ideas  is  at  *  corporal,'  and  there  the  rest  should  be  made  by  the  speaker,  for 
the  mind  dwells  first  on  the  seeming  materiality ,  and  then  turns  to  the  antithesis  of 
invisibility.  *  Melted'  consequently  belongs  to  the  second  line,  which  is  uttered  in 
accents  of  wonder,  and  with  a  rapidity  illustrative  of  the  act  it  describes. 

84.  on]  Abbott,  J  138.  It  would  be  hard  to  explain  why  we  still  say,  *  I  live  on 
bread,*  but  not  *  have  we  eaten  on  the  insane  root ;'  as  hard  as  to  explain  why  we 
talk  of  a  *  high  *  price  or  rate,  while  Beaumont  and  Fletcher  speak  of  a  *  deeper 
rate.*  J  181.  Compare  I  Hen.  IV :  V,  ii,  71 ;  Ham.  I,  i,  88;  Cor.  IV,  v,  203.  Note 
the  indifferent  use  of  on  and  *  of  *  in  Ham.  IV,  v,  200. 

Clarendon.  See  V,  i,  59,  and  also  Jul.  Caes.  I,  ii,  71,  and  Mid.  N.  D.  II,  i,  266. 

84.  insane  root]  Steevens.  Sh.  alludes  to  the  qualities  anciently  ascribed  to 
Hemlock.  In  Greene's  Never  too  Late,  1616:  *you  have  eaten  of  the  roots  of 
hemlock,  that  makes  men's  eyes  conceit  unseen  objects.'  In  Jonson's  Sejanus: 
« they  lay  that  hold  upon  thy  senses,  As  thou  hadst  snuft  up  hemlock.' 

Malone.  In  Plutarch's  Life  of  Antony  (North's  translation,  which  Sh.  must  have 
diligently  read)  the  Roman  soldiers  ape  said  to  have  been  enforced,  through  want 
of  provisions,  in  the  Parthian  war,  to  *  taste  of  rootes  that  were  never  eaten  before ; 
among  the  which  there  was  one  that  killed  them,  and  made  them  out  of  their  wits^ 
for  he  that  had  once  eaten  of  it,  his  memorye  was  gone  from  him^  and  he  knezu  no 
manner  of  thing,  but  only  busied  himself  in  digging  and  hurling  of  stones  from  one 
place  to  another,*  &c. 

Douce.  *  Henbane... \s  called  Insana,  mad,  for  the  use  thereof  is  perillous,  for  if 

C 


34  MACBETH.  [act  i,  sc.  iiL 

That  takes  the  reason  prisoner?  85 

Macb,     Your  children  shall  be  kings. 
Ban,  You  shall  be  king. 

Macb,     And  thane  of  Cawdor  too :  went  it  not  so  ? 
Ban,    To  the  selfsame  tune  and  words.     Who's  here  ? 

Enter  Ross  and  Angus. 

Ross,    The  king  hath  happily  received,  Macbeth, 
The  news  of  thy  success :  and  when  he  reads  90 

Thy  personal  venture  in  the  rebels'  fight, 
His  wonders  and  his  praises  do  contend 
Which  should  be  thine  or  his :  silenced  with  that, 

88.  IVho's']  but  who  is  Han.  rebel's  Johns.  Sing,  ii,  Del.  Sta.  Ktly, 

89.  Scene  v.  Pope,  Han.  Warb.  92.  93.  contend  Which„.that^  con- 
Johns.                                                                  tend. — Silent^d  with  that  which  should 

91.     venture"]  ^venture  Warb.  Johns.  be  thine^  not  his,  Becket. 

rebels]   Theob.    ii.      rebels  Ff.  93.     should"]  would  Pope. 

it  be  eate  or  dronke,  it  breedeth  madnesse,  or  slow  lyknesse  of  sleepe.  Therefore 
this  hcarb  is  called  commonly  Mirilidium,  for  it  taketh  away  wit  and  reason.' — Bat- 
man Uppon  Bartholome  de  propriet.  rerum^  xviii,  ch.  87. 

Clarendon.  Hector  Boece  calls  [the  *  Mekilwort  bene  ;*  see  Appendix,  p.  362. 
Ed.]  Solatrum  amentiale,  that  is,  deadly  nightshade,  of  which  Gerarde,  in  his 
Herball,  writes :  *  This  kinde  of  Nightshade  causeth  sleepe,  troubleth  the  minde, 
bringeth  madnes,  if  a  fewe  of  the  berries  be  inwardly  taken.*  Perhaps  this  is  the 
•  insane  root.* 

Beisley  [Sh.'^s  Garden^  p.  85).  It  is  difficult  to  decide  what  plant  Sh.  meant. 
John  Bauhin,  in  his  *  Historia  Plantarum,*  says :  *  Hyoscyamus  was  called  herba 
insana.'  In  some  of  our  recent  botanical  journals  it  is  stated  that  the  Atropa  bella- 
donna (deadly  nightshade,  or  dwale)  is  the  plant  alluded  to. 

89.  Enter  Ross]  French  (p.  293).  This  title  really  belonged  to  Macbeth,  who, 
long  before  the  action  of  the  play  begins,  was  Thane,  or  more  properly,  Maormor 
of  Ross  by  the  death  of  his  father,  Finley.  In  line  71  of  this  scene  *  Sinel*  (from 
Holinshed)  is  put  for  Finley,  and  *  Glamis'  for  Ross.  This  title  should  not  be  con- 
founded with  one  similar  in  sound,  which  is  spelt  Rosse,  and  is  an  Irish  dignity. 

91.  rebels*]  Delius.  «  Personal  venture'  evidently  refers  to  Macbeth's  duel  with 
Macdonwald,  and  therefore  rebel's  is  better  than  rebels'  of  other  edd. 

93.  his :]  Steevens.  That  is,  private  admiration  of  your  deeds,  and  a  desire  to 
do  them  public  justice  by  commendation,  contend  in  his  mind  for  pre-eminence. 

Elwin.  His  wonders  and  his  praises  maintain  a  contention  whether  he  should  be 
more  actuated  by^  or  you  more  the  object  of^  his  wonders  or  his  commendations. 
That  is,  which  of  the  two  it  most  befits  him  to  give ^  ox  you  to  excite.  The  two  words 
are  used  in  the  plural  to  indicate  more  strongly  the  repeated  excitation  of  the  sepa- 
rate sensations  of  astonishment  and  approbation. 

Halliwell.  That  is,  the  king's  wonder  and  commendation  of  your  deeds  are 
so  nearly  balanced,  they  contend  whether  the  latter  should  be  prominently  thine,  or 
the  wonder  remain  with  him  to  the  exclusion  of  any  other  thought. 


ACT  I.  SC.  iii.]  MA  CBETH.  3 5 

In  viewing  o'er  the  rest  o*  the  selfsame  day, 

He  finds  thee  in  the  stout  Norweyan  ranks,  95 

Nothing  afeard  of  what  thyself  didst  make, 

Strange  images  of  death.     As  thick  as  hail 

96.  afeard'\  afraid  F^,  Rowe,  +.  97.    hail  Came\  Rowe.     tale  Can  Ff. 

97.  death,  A5\  Pope.  Death;  as  Knt  i.  talt\  Came  Johns,  conj.  Steev, 
Rowe.     death,  as  Ff,  Knt  i.  Mai.  Var.  Sing.  Coll.  White,  Sta.  Ktly, 

97,  98.  thick. ..with  post^  quick  as  Huds.  bale  Came  Becket.  hail  Ran 
tale.  Post  follow' d  post  H.  Rowe.  Del.  conj. 

Bailey.  1  suggest  thy  praises  for  *  his  praises,'  and  that  in  the  next  line  *  silenced' 
be  placed  before  *  thine.'  That  is,  the  king  utters  exclamations  of  his  own  wonder 
while  he  reads  thy  praises  in  the  despatches,  and  these  two  utterances  seem  to  con- 
tend which  shall  silence  the  other,  or,  in  different  language,  which  shall  have  the 
predominance.      Thy  praises  is  countenanced  by  line  99. 

Clarendon.  There  is  a  conflict  in  the  king's  mind  between  his  astonishment  at 
the  achievement  and  his  admiration  of  the  achiever ;  he  knows  not  how  sufficiently 
to  express  his  own  wonder  and  to  praise  Macbeth,  so  that  he  is  reduced  to  silence. 

93.  that]  Capell.  *That'  can  refer  to  no  other  substantive  but  one  implied  in 

*  contend,'  with  contention ;  contention  which  became  him  most  of  these  duties  hin- 
dered his  farther  process  in  either,  *  silenced '  Duncan. 

97.  hail]  Johnson.  That  is,  posts  arrived  as  fast  as  they  could  be  counted. 

Steevens.  As  thick  anciently  signified  as  fast.  To  speak  thick,  in  Sh.,  does  not 
mean  to  have  a  cloudy,  indistinct  utterance,  but  to  deliver  words  with  rapidity.  So 
in  Cymb.  Ill,  ii,  58,  and  in  2  Hen.  IV :  II,  iii,  24. 

MalonE.  * breathe  out  damned  orisons  As  thicke  as  haile-stones  'fore  the 

Spring's  approach.' — First  Part  of  the  Troublesome  Raipie  of  King  John,  1 591. 

H.  Rowe.  'Tale'  means  'Counters,'  used  formerly  in  summing  up  money.  Sh. 
very  justly  compares  his  posts  to  the  rapid  manner  that  counters  are  shifted  by  the 
fingers.  For  this  reading  I  am  obliged  to  the  mistress  of  a  post-house,  wl^  hap- 
pened to  be  present  when  my  company  acted  this  play. 

Singer.  *  Thicket  says  Baret,  'that  cometh  often  and  M/r^f^  together;  creber,  fre- 
quens,  frequent,  souvent  vetiant.^  And  again,  '  Crebritas  literarum,  the  often  send- 
ing, or  thicke  coming  of  letters.  Thicke  breathing,  anhelitus  creber.'  To  tale  or 
tell  is  to  score  or  number.  Thus  also  in  Forbes's  State  Papers,  i,  475  :  *  Peraventure 
the  often  and  thick  sending,  with  words  only,  that  this  prince  hath  lately  usyd,'  &c. 

Knight.  The  passage  is  somewhat  obscure,  but  the  meaning  is  as  evident  under 
the  old  reading  as  the  new. 

Collier  (ed.  i).  The  meaning  is  evident,  when  we  take  tale  in  the  sense,  not  of 
a  narrative,  but  of  an  enumeration,  from  the  Sax.  telan,  to  count.  Rowe's  alteration 
may  be  considered  needless. 

Hunter.  The  defences  of  *  tale'  appear  to  me  weak,  while  *  hail'  is  the  common 
stock-comparison  of  our  popular  language,  which  has  subjects  for  comparison  for 
everything,  for  that  which  comes  in  rapid  succession,  and  is  used  by  some  of  our 
best  authors,  as  by  Googe  and  Stowe,  and  among  the  poets  by  Harrington  and  Syl- 
vester.    It  was  probably  *  Hail  *  with  the  article  'the'  prefixed,  originally  written 

*  t'hail.*     The  very  next  word  is  misprinted  '  can '  for  *  came,'  showing  that  the 
manuscript  was  blurred  in  this  place. 

Elwin.  The  word  '/«/?'  being  a  noun,  the  phrase  would  consequently  be  Posts 


36  MACBETH.  [ACT  i,  sc.  iu. 

Came  post  with  post,  and  every  one  did  bear 
Thy  praises  in  his  kingdom's  great  defence, 
And  pour'd  them  down  before  him. 

Ang,  We  are  sent  lOO 

To  give  thee,  from  our  royal  master,  thanks ; 

98.     with'\  on  Pope,  +,  Cap. 

arrived  as  fast  as  account ;  and  nothing  more  is  needed  for  the  overthrow  of  John- 
son's interpretation.  To  those  who  have  noted  Sh.'s  habit  of  continuing  the  mode 
of  expression  suggested  by  his  metaphors  or  similes,  even  to  a  considerable  distance 
from  those  figures  of  speech,  there  is  in  line  100  a  complete  proof  that  Rowe's 
emendation  is  correct.  The  connection  of  thought  is  here  obvious.  The  messen- 
gers arrived  at  their  goal,  discharged  themselves  of  their  news,  as  melting  hail  pours 
forth  its  waters. 

Hudson.  Thus  in  Exodus,  v,  18 :  *  the  taU  of  bricks.*  And  in  L* Allegro  it  is 
used  for  the  numbering  of  sheep :  *  And  every  shepherd  tells  his  tale.^  And  we  still 
say,  to  keep  tally  for  to  keep  count, 

Dyce  (ed.  i).  Was  such  an  expression  as  *  thick  as  tale'  ever  employed  by  any 
writer  whatsoever?  I  more  than  doubt  it.  Now,  *  thick  as  hair  is  of  the  common- 
est occurrence : — *  Out  of  the  towne  came  quarries  thick  as  haile,^ — Drayton's  Bat- 
taiU  of  Agincourt,  p.  20,  ed.  1627.  [But  a  shower  of  arrows  and  a  rapid  succession 
of  messengers  are  very  distinct  things.  Singer  (ed.  2).]  *  The  English  archers 
shoot  as  thick  as  haile.^ — Harrington's  Orlando  Furioso^  b.  xvi,  st.  51.  *  Rayning 
down  bullets  from  a  stormy  cloud,  As  thick  as  hail,  upon  their  armies  proud.' — Syl- 
vester's Du  Bartasy — Fourth  Day  of  the  First  Week,  p.  38,  ed.  1 641.  «  More  thick 
they  fall  then  haileJ* — A  Herrings  Tayle,  1598.  'Darts  thick  as  haile  their  backs 
behinde  did   smile.' — Niccols's  King  Arthur, — A    Winter  Night^s   Vision,   i6io, 

p.  583. 

Collier  (ed.  2).  The  (MS.)  presents  us  with  no  emendation  of  *tale ;^  neverthe- 
less, hail  may  be  the  right  word,  though  the  simile  is  very  trite. 

White.  To  say  that  men  arrived  as  thick  as  tale,  f.  e.  as  fast  as  they  could  be 
told,  is  an  admissible  hyperbole ;  to  say  that  tuen  arrived  as  thick  as  hail,  i.  e,  as  close 
together  as  hailstones  in  a  storm,  is  equally  absurd  and  extravagant.  The  expression 
*  as  thick  as  hail'  is  never  applied,  either  in  common  talk  or  in  literature,  I  believe, 
except  to  inanimate  objects  which  fall  or  fly,  or  have  fallen  or  flown,  with  unsucces- 
sive  multitudinous  rapidity. 

Staunton.  Rowe's  change  was  unwarrantable,  and  has  been  adopted  by  many 
editors  for  no  other  reason,  it  would  appear,  than  that  the  former  simile  was  unusual 
and  the  latter  commonplace. 

Halliwell.  Tale  is  an  obvious  blunder.  The  expression  thick  as  hail  is  found 
in  nearly  every  writer  of  the  time. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  *  XoPaso... hail... words  poured  forth  hastily  and  vehemently  are 
termed  x^^^^^-^ — Maltby's  Greek  Gradus,  1830.  *  ;iaXnCf7r^f ,  hurling  abuse  as 
thick  as  hail.^ — Liddell  and  Scott's  Greek  Lex. 

Clarendon.  No  parallel  instance  can  be  given  for  *  as  thick  as  tale.* 

100.  sent]  Hunter.  It  appears  that  we  ought  to  read  *  we  are  not  sent.* 

Clarendon.  The  sense  is  quite  clear  as  the  text  stands,  for  thanks  are  not  pay- 
ment, and  Angus*s  speech  thus  suits  much  better  with  the  one  which  follows. 


ACT  I,  sc.  iii.]  MA  CBE TH.  3  7 

Only  to  herald  thee  into  his  sight, 
Not  pay  thee. 

Ross,     And  for  an  earnest  of  a  greater  honour, 
He  bade  me,  from  him,  call  thee  thane  of  Cawdor:  105 

In  which  addition,  hail,  most  worthy  thane ! 
For  it  is  thine. 

Ban,  [Aside^     What,  can  the  devil  speak  true  ? 

Macb.     The  thane  of  Cawdor  lives  :  why  do  you  dress  me 
In  borrow'd  robes  ? 

Ang,  Who  was  the  thane  lives  yet. 

But  under  heavy  judgement  bears  that  life  1 10 

Which  he  deserves  to  lose.     Whether  he  was  combined 

102,103.     Only...payihee.'\OTi!t\\Ti^t  109.     borroav' d^  C^c^.     borrowed  Y^, 

Sing.  Knt,  Del.  Ktly.        '  his   borrowed    F^F^F^.      his   borrow'd 

102.     herald']  harrold  F,.     herrald  Pope,  +. 

F.Fj.  III.      Whether]  Whir  Mai.  Sta. 

105.  ^^</if]  Theob.  ii.  badFf^Rovre,  111-114.  Pf^he/her...hnow  no/]  Ma\. 
+ ,  Cap.  Five  lines,  ending  loose... Norway... helpe^ 

107.  What. ..true]  Aside  by  Cap.  ...laboured..  not/xnY^tYjxK,  Four  lines, 
Sta.  Dyce  ii,  Ktly,  Huds.  ending  was... rebel... both... not ,  in  Pope, 

108,  109.     why. ..robes?]  Cap.     One         +,  Cap.  Steev. 
line,  Ff,  Rowe,  + . 

102,  103.  Only.. .thee]  Mitford.  The  redundancy  of  ^Only^  has  arisen  from 
forcing  the  two  readings  into  one  line ;  one  must  be  selected  and  the  other  put  aside. 
*  Only  to  herald  thee  into  his  sight,*  or  *  To  herald  thee  into  his  sight,  not  pay  thee.* 
[The  latter  is  the  reading  of  Steevens,  1793,  1803,  and  1813.  Ed.] 

Walker  (iii,  251).   Qu.^ — *  Only  to  herald  thee  to's  (or  in^s)  sight,  not  pay  thee.' 

Abbott,  J  511.  Such  a  short  line  as  103  is  very  doubtful.  Read  (though  some- 
what harshly)  *  Only  |  to  h6r(a)ld  |  thee  In  |  toV  sight  |  not  p4y  thee.*  *  Herald'  is 
here  a  monosyllable ;  according  to  J  463  R  frequently  softens  or  destroys  a  following 
vowel  (the  vowel  being  nearly  lost  in  the  bun  which  follows  the  effort  to  pronounce 
the  r).     See  IV,  iii,  137. 

104.  earnest]  Clarendon.  Cotgrave  gives  *Arres.  Earnest;  money  giuen  lor 
the  conclusion,  or  striking  vp  of  a  bargaine.*  The  *  earnest  penny*  is  still  given  in 
the  North  of  England  on  the  hiring  of  servants. 

106.  addition]  Clarendon.  Cowel  (Law  Diet.  s.  v.)  says  it  signifies  *a  title 
given  to  a  man  besides  his  Christian  and  surname,  showing  his  estate,  degree,  mys- 
tery, trade,  place  of  dwelling,  &c.*     Compare  Cor.  I,  ix,  66;  Hen.  V:  V,  ii,  467. 

107.  devil]  Abbott,  §  466.  The  v  is  dropped  in  ^evir  and  ^devil^  (Scotch 
'de*ir). 

108.  dress]  See  Appendix,  *  Date  of  the  play,*  p.  385. 

108.  The...lives :]  Elwin.  The  original  metre  denotes  the  pause  which  the 
speaker  would  naturally  make  upon  an  assertion  of  surprise,  as  upon  it  he  would 
necessarily  dwell  impressively,  and  it  is  by  this  that  the  rhythm  is  perfected.  *  Why 
...robes?*  should  be  spoken  in  the  rapid  accents  due  to  an  expostulation  of  wonder. 

XXX.  Whether]  Walker  {^Vers,  p.  103).  Either,  Neither,  Whether,  Mo- 

4 


38  MACBETH,  [act  I,  sc.  iii. 

With  those  of  Norway,  or  did  line  the  rebel 

With  hidden  help  and  vantage,  or  that  with  both 

He  labour'd  in  his  country's  wreck,  I  know  not ; 

But  treasons  capital,  confessed  and  proved,  1 1 5 

Have  overthrown  him. 

Macb,  [Aside.']         Glamis,  and  thane  of  Cawdor ! 
The  greatest  is  behind. — ^Thanks  for  your  pains. — 
Do  you  not  hope  your  children  shall  be  kings, 
When  those  that  gave  the  thane  of  Cawdor  to  me 
Promised  no  less  to  them  ? 

Ban,  That,  trusted  home,  1 20 

Might  yet  enkindle  you  unto  the  crown. 
Besides  the  thane  of  Cawdor.     But  'tis  strange : 

112.  /Aose  0/1  om.  Pope,  +,  Cap.        and...  White,  Glo.  Dyce  ii,  Cla. 
Steev.  118.     [To  Banquo.  Rowe,  +,  Cap. 

did]  else  did  F.FjF^.  V^Thite,  Glo.  Dyce  ii,  Cla.  Huds. 

113.  that\  om.  Pope,  Han.  120.     [Aside.     Cap to    Macb. 

114.  wreck]  Theob.  ii.     wrack  Yi^        Dyce  ii. 

Knt,  Sing,  ii.  White.  trusted]  thrusted  Mai.  and  Coll 

116.  [Aside]  Rowe.    om.  Ff,  Steev.  (MS.)  conj.  Ktly. 
Mai.  Var.  Sing.  Knt,  Coll.  i.  121.     unto]  into  F^. 

117.  [To  Angus.  Rowe,  + .  To  Ross 

THER,  Brother,  and  some  other  dissyllables  in  which  the  final  ther  is  preceded  by  a 
vowel — perhaps,  in  some  measure,  all  words  in  ther — sfre  frequently  used,  either  as 
monosyllables,  or  as  so  nearly  such  that  in  a  metrical  point  of  view  they  may  be 
regarded  as  monosyllables.  Some,  as  whether ^  were  undoubtedly  contracted  {whe'r). 
This  usage  is  more  frequent  in  some  words  than  in  others ;  e,  g.  in  whether  than  in 
hither t  whither ^  &c. 

Abbott,  J  466.  *  Whether  he  was,*  in  this  instance,  constitutes  one  foot,  *  he  was ' 
being  contracted  in  pronunciation  (J  461)  to  h'was. 

Clarendon.  Even  counting  *  Whether '  as  a  monosyllable,  the  line  is  redundant, 
as  are  so  many  where  a  new  sentence  begins  in  the  middle. 

112.  line]  Clarendon.  Compare  i  Hen.  IV:  II,  iii,  87,  and  Hen.  V:  II,  iv,  7. 

1 18-120.  Hunter.  The  delivery  of  predictions  of  this  kind  was  not  peculiar  to 
the  wayward  sisters  of  Scotland,  nor  was  an  attention  to  them  wholly  extinct  in  Sh.'s 
time.  Aubrey  relates  that  a  prophet  or  bard  in  Carmarthenshire  predicted  of  the 
first  Vaughan  who  was  made  a  peer,  that  he  would  live  to  be  a  lord,  and  that  his  son 
would  be  a  lord  after  him.  It  was  in  an  interview  with  Mr  Vaughan,  and  he,  like 
Macbeth,  was  desirous  to  know  further,  but  the  prophet  could  say  no  more. 

120.  home]  Dvce  (Gloss.).  That  is,  to  the  utmost.  Compare  All's  Well,  V,  iii, 
4;  Temp.  V,  i,  71 ;  Meas.  for  Meas.  IV,  iii,  148,  and  Cym.  IV,  ii,  328. 

Abbott,  §  45.  We  still  say  *  to  come  home,*  *  to  strike  home,*  using  the  word 
adverbially  i^th  verbs  of  motion. 

121.  enkindle]  Coleridge.  I  doubt  whether  this  has  not  another  sense  than  that 
of  <  stimulating;*  I  mean  of  *  kind'  and  *  kin,'  as  when  rabbits  are  said  to  <  kindle.' 


ACT  I,  sc.  iu.]  MA  CBE  TH.  39 

And  oftentimes,  to  win  us  to  our  harm, 

The  instruments  of  darkness  tell  us  truths, 

Win  us  with  honest  trifles,  to  betray  's  125 

In  deepest  consequence. — 

Cousins,  a  word,  I  pray  you. 

Macb.     [Aside!]  Two  truths  are  told. 

As  happy  prologues  to  the  swelling  act 
Of  the  imperial  theme. — I  thank  you,  gentlemen.— 
[Aside!]  This  supernatural  soliciting  1 30 

Cannot  be  ill ;  cannot  be  good :  if  ill, 
Why  hath  it  given  me  earnest  of  success. 
Commencing  in  a  truth  ?  I  am  thane  of  Cawdor : 
If  good,  why  do  I  yield  to  that  suggestion 
Whose  horrid  image  doth  unfix  my  hair  135 

125.  betrays]  F.FjF  ,  Rowe  i,  Dyce,        Var.  Sing.  Knt,  Coll.  i,  Hal.  Del.  White, 
Sta.  White,  Glo.  Cam.  Cla.  Huds.     be-        Ktly. 

trays  Y^.     ^^/roy  «j  Rowe  ii,  etc.  131.     Cannot, .xannot]   Can  it,.. can 

126.  127.     In...you\  One  line.  Cap.         t^  Anon.* 

Steev.  (1778,  1785)  Mai.  Ktly.  cannot]  can  iV  Jackson. 

127.  [To  Rosse  and  Angus.  Rdwe,  131,   132.     if   ill„,.5iucess^    Rowe. 
+ .     talks  with  Rosse  and  Angus  apart.         One  line,  Ff. 

Cap.     They  retire.  Ktly.  133.     J am\  Vm  Pope,  +,  Huds. 

[Aside]    Rowe.     om.   Ff,   Mai.  135.     unfix]  upfix\i^xh,     uplift'^. 

Steev.  Var.  Sing.  Knt,  Coll.  i,  Hal.  Del.  Rowe. 

White.                                .  hair]  Rowe.   heire  F^F^Fj.   heir 

129.  [To  Rosse  and  Angus.  Johns.  F^. 

130.  [Aside]  Cap.    om.  Mai.  Steev. 


128.  swelling]  Steevens.  Compare  the  Prologue  to  Hen.  V,  line  4. 
Clarendon.  Sh.  borrows  here,  as  he  frequently  does,  the  language  of  the  stage. 

Compare  H,  iv,  5,  6. 

129.  gentlemen]  Walker  (*  Vers,^  p.  189).  This  is  very  often  a  dissyllable. 

130.  soliciting]  Johnson.  That  is,  incitement. 

134.  suggestion]  Hunter.  It  must  have  been  the  necessity  which  the  Poet  felt 
of  being  rapid  in  the  production  of  the  events,  when  so  much  was  to  be  crowded 
into  five  acts,  that  induced  him  to  represent  Macbeth  as  thus  early  seeing  no  other 
way  for  the  fulfilment  of  the  prophetic  word  than  that  he  should  embrue  his  hands 
in  the  blood  of  Duncan.  The  conception,  the  very  thought  of  such  a  course,  should 
have  been  reserved,  at  least,  till  after  Duncan  had  settled  the  succession  in  his  sons. 
Suggestion  is  a  theological  word,  one  of  the  three  'procurators  or  tempters*  of  Sin, 
Delight  and  Consent  being  the  others.  Thus,  John  Johnes,  M.  D.,  in  his  Arte  and 
Science  of  preserving  bodie  and  soul  in  healthy  wisdom  and  Catholic  religion^  1 579. 

135.  unfix]  Mason.  Compare  V,  v,  11-13. 

H.  Rowe.  The  hair  may  be  uplifted^  but  no  horrid  image  can  unfix  it. 
Clarendon.   Stir  my  hair  from  its  position,  make  it  stand  on  end.     See  Temp.  I, 
ii,  213;  Ham.  HI,  iv,  121 ;  in  2  Hen.  VI :  III,  ii,  318,  it  is  a  sign  of  madness. 


4.0  MACBETH.  [act  I,  sc.  iii. 

And  make  my  seated  heart  knock  at  my  ribs, 

Against  the  use  of  nature  ?     Present  fears 

Are  less  than  horrible  imaginings : 

My  thought,  whose  murder  yet  is  but  fantastical, 

Shakes  so  my  single  state  of  man  that  function  140 

137.    fears\  feats  Warb.  Theob.  Han.         yet  but  fantasy  Han. 
139.     whose'\  where  Coll.  (MS).  140-142.    Shakes,.. not J\  Pope.  Three 

murder.,  fantastical'^    murther^s        lines,  ending man,...surmisey...not,  in  Ff. 

136.  seated]  Steevens.  That  is,  fixed,  firmly  placed.     So  in  Par.  Lost,  vi,  643 : 

*  Prom  their  foundations,  loosening  to  and  fro,  They  pluck*d  the  seated  hills.* 

137.  fears]  H.  Rowe.  I  read  acts  for  *  fears,*  conceiving  that  *  present  fears*  and 

*  horrible  imaginings  *  are  nearly  the  same  thing. 

Clarendon.  The  presence  of  actual  danger  moves  one  less  than  the  terrible  fore- 
bodings of  the  imagination.  For  *  fear'  in  the  sense  of  *  object  of  fear*  see  Mid.  N. 
D.  V,  i,  21,  and  2  Hen.  IV:  IV,  v,  196. 

139.  murder]  Maginn  (Sh.  Papers^  &c.  p.  173).  To  a  mind  thus  disposed, 
temptation  is  unnecessary.  The  thing  was  done.  Duncan  was  marked  out  for 
murder  before  the  letter  was  written  to  Lady  Macbeth,  and  she  only  followed  the 
thought  of  her  husband. 

139.  fantastical]  Abbott,  {  467.  /  in  the  middle  of  a  trisyllable,  if  unaccented, 
is  frequently  dropped,  or  so  nearly  dropped  as  to  make  it  a  favourite  syllable  in  tri- 
syllabic feet. 

130-142.  BUCKNILL  {Mad  Folk  of  Sh.  p.  13).  Let  not  this  early  and  important 
testimony  be  overlooked  which  Macbeth  gives  to  the  extreme  excitability  of  his 
imagination.  This  passage  was  scarcely  intended  to  describe  an  actual  hallucina- 
tion, but  rather  that  excessive  predominance  of  the  imaginative  faculty  which  ena- 
bles some  men  to  call  at  will  before  the  mind's  eye  the  very  appearance  of  the  object 
of  thought.  It  is  a  faculty  bordering  on  a  morbid  state,  and  apt  to  pass  the  limit, 
when  judgment  swallowed  in  surmise  yields  her  function  and  the  imaginary  becomes 
as  real  to  the  mind  as  the  true, '  and  nothing  is  but  what  is  not.*  This  early  indica- 
tion of  Macbeth's  tendency  to  hallucination  is  most  important  in  the  psychological 
development  of  his  character. 

140.  single]  Johnson.  This  phrase  seems  to  be  used  by  Sh.  for  an  individual, 
in  opposition  to  a  commonwealth,  or  conjunct  body. 

Steevens.  It  should  be  observed,  however,  that  double  and  single  anciently  signi- 
fied strong  and  weak,  when  applied  to  liquors,  and  to  other  objects.  In  this  sense 
the  former  word  may  be  employed  by  lago  in  Oth.  I,  ii,  14 :  *  a  voice  potential  As 
double  as  the  duke*s.*  And  the  latter,  by  the  Chief  Justice,  speaking  to  Falstaff,  in 
2  Hen.  IV :  I,  ii,  207 1  *  Is  not  your  wit  single?*  The  single  state  of  Macbeth  may 
therefore  mean  his  weak  and  debile  state  of  mind. 

Seymour.  Milton,  Par.  Lost,  bk.  xi. :  *  Compassion  queird  His  best  of  man.* 

Boswell.  So  in  Jonson*s  Every  Man  Out  of  his  Humour:  * he  might  have 

altered  the  shape  of  his  argument,  and  explicated  them  better  in  single  scenes — llial 
had  been  single  indeed.* 

Singer.  Macbeth  means  his  simple  condition  of  human  nature.  Single  soul,  for  a 
simple  or  weak,  guileless  person,  was  the  phraseology  of  the  poet*s  time.  Simplicity 
and  singleness  were  synon3rmous. 


ACT  I.  sc.  iii.]  MA  CBETH.  4 1 

Is  smother'd  in  surmise,  and  nothing  is  141 

But  what  is  not 

Ban,  Look,  how  our  partner's  rapt 

Macb.  [Aside.']     If  chance  will  have  me  king,  why,  chance 
may  crown  me, 
Without  my  stir. 

Ban.  New  honours  come  upon  him, 

142.  partner's]  partners  F^F^.  Del.  White. 

143.  [Aside]  Rowe.     om.  PX  Mai.  143.     Rowe.     Two  lines,  Ff. 
Steev.  Var.  Sing.  Knt,  Coll.  Hal.  Ktly, 

Elwin.  Macbeth  calls  his  existence  at  this  moment  his  single  state  of  man, 
because  of  the  trvo  faculties,  thought  and  action^  by  which  the  life  of  man  expresses 
itself,  the  primitive  or  essential  quality  alone  is  recognised  by  him ;  action^  or  func- 
tion,  being,  as  he  says,  extinguished  by  the  violent  agitation  of  the  other  power. 

Staunton.  *  Single*  here  bears  the  sense  of  weak;  my  feeble  government  (or  body 
politic)  of  man.  Sh.'s  affluence  of  thought  and  language  is  so  unbounded  that  he 
rarely  repeats  himself,  but  there  is  a  remarkable  affinity  both  in  idea  and  expression 
between  the  present  passage  and  one  in  Jul.  Caes.  II,  i,  63-69 : 

'  Between  the  acting  of  a  dreadful  thing 
And  the  first  motion,  all  the  interim  is 
Like  a  phantasma,  or  a  hideous  dream  : 
The  Genius  and  the  mortal  instruments 
Are  then  in  council ;  and  the  statt  qf  man. 
Like  to  a  little  kingdom,  suffers  then 
The  nature  of  an  insurrection.' 

White.  That  is,  my  inadequate,  unsupported  manhood. 

Clarendon.  Man  is  compared  to  a  kingdom  or  state,  which  may  be  described  as 
'  single '  when  all  faculties  are  at  one,  or  act  in  unison,  undisturbed  by  conflicting 
emotions.     Or  is  single  used  in  a  depreciatory  sense,  as  in  I,  vi,  16  ? 

140.  function]  Johnson.  All  powers  of  action  are  oppressed  and  crushed  by  one 
overwhelming  image  in  the  mind,  and  nothing  is  present  to  me  but  that  which  is 
really  future.  Of  things  now  about  me  I  have  no  perception,  being  intent  wholly  on 
that  which  has  yet  no  existence. 

142.  not]  Steevens.  Compare  a  sentiment  somewhat  like  this  in  Mer.  of  Yen. 
Ill,  ii,  184,  and  in  Rich.  II :  II,  ii,  23. 

Hudson.  That  is,  facts  are  lost  sight  of.  I  see  nothing  but  what  is  unreal,  nothing 
but  the  spectres  of  my  own  fancy.  So,  likewise,  in  the  preceding  clause :  the  mind 
is  crippled,  disabled  for  its  proper  function  or  office  by  the  apprehensions  and  sur- 
mises that  throng  upon  him.  Macbeth^s  conscience  here  acts  through  his  imagina- 
tion, sets  it  all  on  fire,  and  he  is  terror-stricken  and  lost  to  the  things  before  him,  as 
the  elements  of  evil,  hitherto  latent  within  him,  gather  and  fashion  themselves  into 
the  wicked  purpose.  His  mind  has  all  along  been  grasping  and  reaching  forward 
for  gronnds  to  build  criminal  designs  upon;* yet  he  no  sooner  begins  to  build  them 
than  he  is  seized  and  shaken  with  horrors  which  he  knows  to  be  imaginary,  yet  can- 
not allay.  Of  this  wonderful  development  of  character  Coleridge  justly  says :  *  So 
•urely  is  the  guilt  in  its  germ  anterior  to  the  supposed  cause  and  immediate  tempta- 
tion.'  And  again,  <  Every  word  of  his  soliloquy  shows  the  early  birth-date  of  his  guilt.' 

4* 


42  MA  CBETH.  [Acr  i.  sc.  iii. 

Like  our  strange  garments,  cleave  not  to  their  mould  145 

But  with  the  aid  of  use. 

Macb,  \Aside^  Come  what  come  may, 

Time  and  the  hour  runs  through  the  roughest  day. 

146.  [Aside]  Han.  Johns.  Cap.  on ! — the  hour  Johns,  conj.  Time  and 
Dyce,  Sta.  Glo.  Cam.  Cla.  Huds.     om.        the  honour  Jackson. 

PT,  etc.  147.  rum'\  run  Hal. 

147.  Time  and  the  hour'}    Time  I 

147.  Time]  Mrs.  Montagu.  That  is,  tempus  et  hora^  time  and  occasion,  will 
carry  the  thing  through  and  bring  it  to  some  determined  point  and  end,  let  its  nature 
be  what  it  will. 

Hunter.  We  feel  the  meaning  of  this,  and  perhaps  every  reader  of  Sh.  feels  it 
alike.  It  is  a  conventional  expression.  We  need  not,  therefore,  be  solicitous  to 
scan  every  element  of  the  general  idea,  to  weigh  the  particular  force  and  effect  of 
every  word.  Alas  for  much  of  our  finest  poetry  if  we  are  to  deal  with  it  thus !  The 
phrase  is  used  by  good  writers.  As  by  Bishop  Hacket  in  his  Life  of  Archbishop 
Williams :  *  Time  and  long  day  will  mitigate  sad  accidents.'  Part  ii,  20.  Marlowe 
places  at  the  end  of  his  Doctor  Faustus  a  line  which  contains  a  sentiment  resembling 
this :  *  Terminat  hora  diem ;  terminat  auctor  opus.* 

"DycE  (*Few  NoteSj  p.  119).  This  expression  is  not  unfrequent  in  Italian:  *  Ma 
perch*  e'  fugge  il  iempo^  e  cosi  /*ora.  La  nostra  storia  ci  convien  seguire.'  Pulci, 
Morg.  Alag.  c.  xv.  *  Ferminsi  in  un  momento  U  tempo  e  /*  ore.^  Michclagnolo, 
Son.  xix. 

Elwin.  That  is,  to  every  difficulty  there  comes  its  hour  of  solution.  The  hour 
signifies  the  appropriate  hour ;  it  is  identified  in  time,  of  which  it  constitutes  a  part, 
as  having  the  natural  distinction  of  containing  the  issue  of  the  event,  the  finish  of 
Uie  day. 

Bailey  (i,  89).  I  propose  to  read  'Time's  sandy  hour  runs,*  &c.  It  will  be 
allowed,  I  think,  that  this  alteration  remedies  the  tautology  and  the  incongpruity  of 
ideas  in  the  received  text,  and  it  will  not  be  difficult  to  show  that  it  is  Shakespearian 
both  in  cast  of  thought  and  in  expression.  Compare  I  Hen.  VI :  IV,  ii,  36,  and 
Mer.  of  Ven.  I,  i,  25.  The  emendation  has  also  in  its  favour  the  ductus  literarum  : 
*  Time's  sandy  hour,'  and  *  Time  and  ye  hour.* 

Halliwell.  Compare  the  similar  phraseology :  *Day  and  time  discovering  these 
murders,  the  woman  *  *  *  confessed  the  fact.' — Lodge's  Wits  Miserie^  1596. 

Clarendon.  *■  Time  and  the  hour,'  in  the  sense  of  time  with  its  successive  inci- 
dents, or  in  its  measured  course,  forms  but  one  idea.  The  expression  seems  to  have 
been  proverbial.  Another  form  of  it  is :  *  Be  the  day  weary,  be  the  day  long,  At 
length  it  ringeth  to  evensong.* 

White  (  Words  and  their  Uses^  p.  237).  The  use  of  tide  in  its  sense  of  hour,  the 
hour,  led  naturally  to  a  use  of  hour  for  tide,  *  Time  and  the  hour '  in  this  passage 
is  merely  an  equivalent  of  time  and  tide — ^the  time  and  tide  that  wait  for  no  man. 
Time  and  opportunity,  time  and  tide,  run  through  the  roughest  day ;  the  day  most 
thickly  bestead  with  trouble  is  long  enough  and  has  occasions  enough  for  the  service 
and  the  safety  of  a  ready,  quick-witted  man.  But  for  the  rhythm,  Sh.  would  proba- 
bly have  written,  Time  and  tide  run  through  the  roughest  day ;  but  as  the  adage  in 
that  form  was  not  well  suited  to  his  verse,  he  used  the  equivalent  phrase,  time  and 


ACT  I.  sc.  iv.]  MA  CBETH.  43 

Ban,    Worthy  Macbeth,  we  stay  upon  your  leisure. 

Macb,     Give  me  your  favour :  my  dull  brain  was  wrought 
With  things  forgotten.     Kind  gentlemen,  your  pains  150 

Are  register'd  where  every  day  I  turn 
The  leaf  to  read  them.     Let  us  toward  the  king. — 
{Aside  to  Ban."]  Think  upon  what  hath  chanced,  and  at  more  time, 
The  interim  having  weigh'd  it,  let  us  speak 
Our  free  hearts  each  to  other. 

Ban,  Very  gladly.  1 5  5 

Macd.     Till  then,  enough. — Come,  friends.  [Exeunt. 


Scene  IV.       Forres,     Tlu  palace. 

Flourish,    Enter  Duncan,  Malcolm,  Donalbain,  Lennox,  and  Attendants. 

Dun,     Is  execution  done  on  Cawdor  ?     Are  not 
Those  in  commission  yet  returned  ? 

Mai.  My  liege, 

149-153.    Give.. . time ^Yo^,    Seven  Scene  IV.]  Ff.   Scene  VI.  Pope,  Han. 

lines,   ending  favour... forgotten... regis-  Warb.  Johns. 

tredy.. .leafe,... them... upon. ..time^  in    Ff.  Forres.     The  palace.]  Foris.    A 

Six  lines,  ending  favour : — ...forgotten  Room  in  the  Palace.  Cap.     A  Palace. 

,...  register'd. ...them, — ....king. — ...time,  Rowe, +. 

Knt,  Sing,  ii,  Sta.  Duncan,]  Cap.     King,  Ff. 

149.  me'\  om.  Coll.  i.  Malcolm... Lennox,]  Rowe.    Le 

150.  forgotten'^  forgot  Pope,  +.  nox,  Malcolme,  Donalbaine,  Ff. 

[To  Rosse  and  Angus.  Johns.  I.     Dun.]    Cap.       King.    Ff    (and 

152.     [To  Banquo.  Rowe,  + ,  Dyce  ii.  throughout). 

153-156.     Think... enough"]    Marked  Is...not']  Cap.     The  line  ends  at 

as  aside.  Cap.  Dyce  ii,  Huds.  Cawdor?  Ff. 

154.  The"]  r  th^  Steev.  conj.  In  the  Cawdor?]  Cawdor  yet  ?  Yg^^^  +, 
Ktly.  Are]  Or  F,,  Theob.  Warb.  Johns. 

155.  Ban...]  Aside  to  Macb.  Dyce  ii.  Coll.  i,  Del.     or*  Allen. 

156.  Macb...]  Aside  to  Ban.  Dyce  ii.  2-8.  My  liege ,... died]  Pope.  Seven 
Aside.  Ktly.  lines,  ending  back...die  :,..hee.. .pardon, 

Pope.     Two  lines,  Ff.  ,.. Repentance  :...him,...dy de,  in  Ff. 

the  hour  (not  time  and  an  hour,  or  time  and  the  hours),  and  the  appearance  of  the 
singular  verb  I  am  inclined  to  regard  as  due  to  the  poet's  own  pen,  not  as  accidental. 

147*  runs]  See  Abbott,  2  336,  for  instances  of  the  inflection  in  s  with  two  singu- 
lar nouns  as  subject. 

149.  £Avour]  Steevens.  That  is,  indulgence,  pardon. 

Collier  (ed.  2).  Here  we  are  told  in  the  (MS.)  that  the  actor  of  the  part  of  the 
hero  was  to  start,  on  being  suddenly  roused  from  his  ambitious  dream. 

Clarendon.  Compare  Temp.  IV,  i,  204;  Hen.  VIII :  I,  i,  168. 


44  MACBETH.  [acti,  sc.  iv 

They  are  not  yet  come  back.     But  I  have  spoke 

With  one  that  saw  him  die,  who  did  report 

That  very  frankly  he  confessed  his  treasons,  5 

Implored  your  highness*  pardon  and  set  forth 

A  deep  repentance :  nothing  in  his  life 

Became  him  like  the  leaving  it ;  he  died 

149.  wrought]  Steevens.  Agitated.     Comp.  0th.  V,  ii,  345. 

151.  registered]  Clarendon.  That  is,  in  the  tablets  of  his  memory,  like  the 
livfjfiove^  6k7iToi  ^gev€)v  (Aesch.  Prom.  789).     Comp.  Ham.  I,  v,  98. 

154.  The  interim]  Steevens.  This  intervening  portion  of  time  is  personified; 
it  is  represented  as  a  cool  impartial  judge;  as  the pauser  Reason, 

Malone.  I  believe  it  is  used  adverbially. 

For  instances  of  the  omission  of  prepositions  in  adverbial  expressions  of  time, 
manner,  &c.  see  Abbott,  2  202.    See  also  IV,  iii,  48. 

I.  Are]  Collier  (ed.  i).  Duncan  asks  whether  execution  has  been  done  on 
Cawdor,  or  whether  the  tidings  had  not  yet  been  received  by  the  return  of  those 
commissioned  for  the  purpose. 

Dyce  {Remarks f  &c.).  Could  any  boarding-school  girl  read  over  the  speech  of 
Duncan,  and  not  immediately  perceive  from  the  arrangement  of  the  words  that  '^r' 
is  a  misprint  for  <  are '  ? 

[See  Allen's  note  on  the  Elision  of  Gutturals,  Rom.  and  Jul.,  p.  430,  var. 
ed.   Ed.] 

4.  die]  Steevens.  The  behaviour  of  the  thane  of  Cawdor  corresponds  in  almost 
every  circumstance  with  that  of  the  unfortunate  Earl  of  Essex,  as  related  by  Stowe, 
p.  793.  His  asking  the  Queen's  forgiveness,  his  confession,  repentance,  and  concern 
about  behaving  with  propriety  on  the  scaffold,  are  minutely  described.  Such  an 
allusion  could  not  fail  of  having  the  desired  effect  on  an  audience,  many  of  whom 
were  eye-witnesses  to  the  severity  of  that  justice  which  deprived  the  age  of  one  of 
its  greatest  ornaments,  and  Southampton,  Sh.'s  patron,- of  his  dearest  friend. 

Singer  (ed.  2).  Montaigne,  with  whom  Sh.  was  familiar,  says,  *  In  my  time,  three 
of  the  most  execrable  persons  I  ever  knew,  in  all  abominations  of  life,  and  the  most 
infamous,  have  been  seen  to  die  very  orderly  and  quietly,  and  in  every  circumstance 
composed  even  unto  perfection.* 

8.  the  leaving]  Abbott,  J  93.  The  frequently  precedes  a  verbal  that  is  followed 
by  an  object.  Compare  Mer.  of  Ven.  I,  ii,  109;  Cym.  I,  v,  25;  Cym.  I,  v,  41 — 
'  The  locking  up  the  spirits,*  &c.  The  question  naturally  arises,  are  these  verbals, 
Mocking,*  &c.,  nouns?  and,  if  so,  why  are  they  not  followed  by  *of' — e.g.  the 
'  locking  of  the  spirits*  ?  Or  are  they  parts  of  verbs  ?  and  in  that  case,  why  are  they 
preceded  by  the  article  ?  The  fact  that  a  verb  in  Early  English  had  an  abstract 
noun  in  -ing  (A.  S., -«w^) — e.g.  *slaeten,*  to  hunt;  'slaeting,'  hunting — renders 
it  a  priori  probable  that  these  words  in  -ing  are  nouns.  Very  early,  however,  the 
termination  -ng  was  confused  with,  and  finally  supplanted,  the  present  participle  ter- 
mination in  -nde.  Thus  in  the  earlier  text  of  Layamon  (iii,  72),  we  have  *  heo  riden 
singinge*  i.e.  'they  rode  singing;^  and  in  the  later  text,  the  proper  participial 
form  *singende,*  An  additional  element  of  confusion  was  introduced  by  the  genin- 
dial  inflection  •^enne,  e.g.  'singenne*  used  after  the  preposition  *to.*  As  early  as 
the  tweliUi  century  *  to  singenne*  (Morris,  £.  E.  Specimens,  p.  53)  became  <  to  sing- 


ACT  I.  sc.  iv.]  MA  CBETH.  45 

As  one  that  had  been  studied  in  his  death, 

To  throw  away  the  dearest  thing  he  owed  lO 

As  'twere  a  careless  trifle. 

Dun.  There 's  no  art 

To  find  the  mind's  construction  in  the  face : 

lo.     OTe>«/]  <?w«V  Johns.  conj.Warb.     4a</ H.  Rowe. 

ende,*  and  hence  (by  the  corruption  above  mentioned)  *  to  singinge.'  Hence,  when 
Layamon  writes  that  the  king  went  out  *  an-slaeting '  (ii,  88),  or  *a-slatinge*  (iii, 
1 68),  it  is  not  easy  to  prove  that  the  verbal  noun  is  here  used ;  for  the  form  may  rep- 
resent the  corruption  of  the  gerund  used  with  the  preposition  *  an  *  instead  of  with  *  to.' 
And  as  early  as  Layamon  we  find  the  infinitive  '  to  kumen '  side  by  side  with  the 
present  participle  *  to  comende '  (i,  49) ;  and  the  gerund  *  cumene '  side  by  side  with 
the  verbal  'coming'  (iii,  231);  and  the  noun  *tiding(s)'  spelt  in  the  earlier  text 
*  tidind,'  or  *  tidinde,'  the  present  participle  (i,  59).  The  conclusion  is,  that  although 
Mocking'  is  a  noun,  and  therefore  preceded  by  *  the,'  yet  it  is  so  far  confused  with 
the  gerund  as  to  be  allowed  the  privilege  of  governing  a  direct  object.  The  *  of ' 
was  omitted  partly  for  shortness,  as  well  as  owing  to  the  confusion  above  mentioned. 
...  It  is  perhaps  this  feeling,  that  the  verbal  was  an  ordinary  noun,  which  allows 
Sh.  to  make  an  adjective  qualify  it,  even  though  of  is  omitted  after  it,  as  in  Macb. 
II,  iii,  2,  *  He  shall  have  old  turning  the  key.'  The  substantival  use  of  the  verbal 
with  *the'  before  it  and  *of'  after  it  seems  to  have  been  regarded  as  colloquial. 
See  As  You  Like  It,  II,  iv,  49-51,  and  Ham.  V,  i,  100. 

9.  studied]  Johnson.  Instructed  in  the  art  of  dying. 

Malone.  His  own  profession  furnished  Sh.  with  this  phrase.  To  be  studied  in  a 
part,  or  to  have  studied  it,  is  yet  the  technical  term  of  the  theatre. 

Harry  Rowe.  An  allusion  to  the  death  of  Socrates  and  Seneca,  who  with  great 
propriety  may  be  considered  as  men  *  studied  in  their  death. ^ 

II.  As]  Abbott  (J  107).  *  As,'  like  *an,'  appears  to  be  (though  it  is  not)  used 
by  Sh.  for  asif.  The  *if'  is  implied  in  the  subjunctive;  that  is  [in  the  present 
line],  *  in  the  way  in  which  (he  would  throw  it  away)  were  it  a  careless  trifle.*  Often 
the  subjunctive  if  not  represented  by  any  inflection,  as  in  II,  i,  27,  *As  they  had  seen 
me,'  &c. 

II.  careless]  For  instances  of  adjectives  in  ful^  less^  ble^  and  ive^  with  both  an 
active  and  a  passive  meaning,  see  Walker  {Crit.  ii,  82)  and  Abbott,  \  3. 

11,  12.  Clarendon.  Compare,  for  the  sentiment,  Euripides,  Medea,  516-520. 

TtKfiript.'  avOpunroiaiv  uivaaaK  <ra^^, 
avipCtv  6' ,  oTy  XP^  ^^*'  'Ajcbf  fiiciS^voi, 
ovdeU  XAp<)MT>?p  ift-ni^VKt  (rw/iiari ; 

12.  construction]  Heath.  That  is,  construe  or  collect  the  disposition  of  the 
mind  from  the  countenance.  The  metaphor  is  taken  from  grammatical  construction, 
not  from  astrological,  as  Warburton,  nor  from  physical,  as  Johnson,  interprets  it. 

Malone.  In  the  93d  Sonnet,  however,  we  find  a  contrary  sentiment :  *  In  many's 
loohs  the  /atse  hearfs  history  Is  writ.' 

Clarendon.  Duncan's  reflections  on  the  conduct  of  Cawdor  are  suddenly  inter- 
rupted by  the  entrance  of  one  whose  face  gave  as  little  indication  of  the  construc- 
tion of  his  mind,  upon  whom  he  had  built  as  absolute  a  trust,  and  who  was  about  tc 
requite  that  trust  by  an  act  of  still  more  signal  and  more  fatal  treachery. 


46 


MACBETH. 


["act  I,  sc.  iv.. 


He  was  a  gentleman  on  whom  I  built 
An  absolute  trust. — 

Enter  Macbeth,  Banquo,  Ross,  and  Angus. 

O  worthiest  cousin ! 
The  sin  of  my  ingratitude  even  now 
Was  heavy  on  me :  thou  art  so  far  before 
That  swiftest  wing  of  recompense  is  slow 
To  overtake  thee.     Would  thou  hadst  less  deserved, 
That  the  proportion  both  of  thanks  and  payment 
Might  have  been  mine !  only  I  have  left  to  say, 
More  is  thy  due  than  more  than  all  can  pay. 
Macb,     The  service  and  the  loyalty  I  owe. 
In  doing  it,  pays  itself     Your  highness*  part 
Is  to  receive  our  duties :  and  our  duties 
Are,  to  your  throne  and  state,  children  and  servants ; 
Which  do  but  what  they  should,  by  doing  every  thing 


15 


20 


25 


14.  worthiest^  my  most  worthy  Han. 
Enter...]     After    cousin!    Cap. 

Steev.  Var.  Sing,  i,  Knt,  Huds.  i. 
Embracing  Macb.  Coll.  ii. 

15.  evtn'\  ev'n  Pope  i,  Han.     e'en 
Pope  ii,  +. 

16.  Wasl  Is  H.  Rowe. 

thou    art]     Thou'rt    Pope,  +, 
Dyce  ii,  Huds. 

17.  That]  The  Jen, 

wing]  wine  F^F  F^.   Wind  Rowe, 
Pope,  Collier's  and  Singer's  (MS.). 


1 8.     thou  hadst]  thou^dst  Pope,  + . 

20.  mine]  more  Coll.  ii  (MS). 

/  have]  Tve  Pope,  +,  Dyce  ii, 
Huds. 

21.  than  more]  ev'n  more  Han. 
nay^  more  H.  Rowe. 

23-27.  Your... honour.]  Pope.  Five 
lines,  ending  duties  :... state,.. .should^... 
love... honor,  in  Ff. 

26,  27.  by... Safe  toward]  in  doing 
nothing.  Save  toward  Johns,  conj. 


19.  proportion]  Clarendon.  This  is,  due  proportion.     See  Tro.  and  Cres.  I, 

111,    87. 

20.  mine]  Collier  (i\'b/«,  &c.).  More  says  the  (MS.).  Duncan  wishes  that  his 
thanks  could  have  been  more  in  proportion  to  the  deserts  of  Macbeth.  This  change 
is  doubtful. 

Singer  {Sh.  Vindicated,  &c.).  I  confess  it  seems  to  me  much  more  plausible  than 
many  that  Collier  considers  undoubted. 

Staunton.  For  *  mine,'  which  no  one  can  for  a  moment  doubt  to  be  a  corruption, 
we  would  suggest  that  Sh.  wrote  mean,  i.  e.  equivalent,  just,  and  the  like ;  the 
sense  then  being,  That  the  proportion  both  of  thanks  and  payment  might  have  been 
equal  to  your  deserts. 

21.  all]  Singer.  I  owe  thee  more  than  all;  nay,  more  than  all  which  I  can  say 
or  do  will  requite. 

22.  owe]  Clarendon.  The  loyal  service  which  I  owe  recompenses  itself  in  the 
very  performance.  The  singular  is  used  as  in  I,  iii,  147,  'service  and  loyalty*  rep- 
resenting but  one  idea. 


ACT  I.  sc.  iv-]  MACBETH.  47 

* 

Safe  toward  your  love  and  honour. 

Dun.  Welcome  hither : 

I  have  begun  to  plant  thee,  and  will  labour 
To  make  thee  full  of  growing. — Noble  Banquo, 
That  hast  no  less  deserved,  nor  must  be  known  30 

No  less  to  have  done  so,  let  me  infold  thee 

27.     Safe\     Shafd    Han.       Fief'd  gtwrds  Becket. 
Warb.       Fiefs    Warb.     conj.       Serves  lave"]  Life  Warb. 

Heath.     Saf'd  Mai.  conj.  30.     That]  Thou  Pope.  +. 

Safe  toward  your'\    Your  safe^  nor]  and  Rowe,  + ,  H.  Rowe. 

27.  Safe]  Blackstone.  Read,  *Safe  {i.  e.  saved)  toward  you  love  and  honour,* 
and  then  the  sense  will  be,  *  Our  duties  are  your  children,  and  servants  or  vassals  to 
your  throne  and  state ;  who  do  but  what  they  should,  by  doing  everything  with  a 
saving  of  their  love  and  honour  toward  you' — an  allusion  to  the  forms  of  doing 
homage  in  the  feudal  times.  The  oath  of  allegiance,  or  liege  homage^  to  the  king, 
was  absolute,  and  without  any  exception ;  but  simple  homage^  when  done  to  a  subject 
for  lands  holden  of  him,  was  always  with  a  saving  of  the  allegiance  (the  love  and 
honour)  due  to  the  sovereign.  *Sauf  la  foy  que  jeo  doy  a  nostre  seignor  le  roy,  t\s 
it  is  in  Littleton. 

As  You  Like  It  (Gent.  Mag.  lix,  713).  Enclose  *  children..., everything^  in  paren- 
thesis, and  read  *Safe  to  ward^  &c. 

Seymour.  Safe  toivard.  That  is,  with  sure  tendency,  with  certain  direction.  It 
ought  to  be  marked  as  a  compound — *  safe-toward.' 

Singer  (ed.  i).  Safe  may  merely  mean  respectful^  loyal;  like  the  old  French 
word  sauf 

Knight.  Surely  it  is  easier  to  receive  the  words  in  their  plain  acceptation — our 
duties  are  called  upon  to  do  everything  which  they  can  do  safely^  as  regards  the  love 
and  honour  we  bear  you. 

Coleridge  (p.  245).  Here,  in  contrast  with  Duncan*s  'plenteous  joys,'  Macbeth 
has  nothing  but  the  commonplaces  of  loyalty,  in  which  he  hides  himself  with  *  our 
duties.*  Note  the  exceeding  effort  of  Macl>eth's  addresses  to  the  king,  his  reasoning 
on  his  allegiance,  and  then  especially  when  a  new  difficulty,  the  designation  of  a 
successor,  suggests  a  new  crime.  This,  however,  seems  the  first  distinct  notion  as  to 
the  plan  of  realizing  his  wishes ;  and  here,  therefore,  with  great  propriety,  Macbeih's 
cowardice  of  his  own  conscience  discloses  itself. 

Elwin.  Macbeth  is  speaking  with  reference  to  his  late  defence  of  Duncan  from 
the  enmity  that  would  have  robbed  him  of  the  affection  and  reverence  of  his  subjects  ; 
and  the  meaning  is,  who  do  but  what  they  should,  by  doing  everything  that  can  be 
done,  which  secures  to  you  the  love  and  honour  that  is  your  due. 

Clarendon.  *  Safe'  is  used  provincially  for  *sure,  certain.' 

28.  plant]  Elwin.  Thus  in  B.  and  F.,  The  Island  Princess,  III,  i,  *  So  is  my 
study  still  to  plant  thy  person.'  And  the  word  grooving  was  formerly  used  to  signify 
accruing  wealth  or  income.  Thus  in  the  *  Letters  of  Cranmer,'  *  I  know  he  hath 
very  little  growing  towards  the  supporting  of  his  necessaries.* 

31.  No]  Clarendon.  We  should  now  say,  *and  must  be  no  less  known.*  For 
instances  of  this  double  negative,  which  is  of  frequent  occurrence,  see  Mer.  of  Ven. 
III.  iv,  II. 


48  MA  CBETH.  [ACT  i.  sc.  iv. 

And  hold  thee  to  my  heart. 

Ban,  There  if  I  grow, 

The  harvest  is  your  own. 

Dun,  My  plenteous  joys, 

Wanton  in  fulness,  seek  to  hide  themselves 
In  drops  of  sorrow. — Sons,  kinsmen,  thanes,  35 

And  you  whose  places  are  the  nearest,  know. 
We  will  establish  our  estate  upon 
Our  eldest,  Malcolm,  whom  we  name  hereafter 
The  Prince  of  Cumberland :  which  honour  must 
Not  unaccompanied  invest  him  only,  40 

But  signs  of  nobleness,  like  stars,  shall  shine 
On  all  deservers. — From  hence  to  Inverness, 
And  bind  us  further  to  you. 

32.  [Embracing  Banquo]  Coll.  ii.  Warb.  Johns. 

33.  pifnieous]  pUntious  F..  42.     From\  om.  Pope,  +. 

35.     kinsmen^  kinsman  Fj,F  F^.  Inverness]  Pope.     Envemes  Ff. 

thanes]  and  Thanes,  Han.  43.     [To  Macb.]  Ktly. 

40.     unaccompanied  ]      accompanied 

32.  grow]  Clarendon.  Here  used  in  the  double  sense  of  *  to  cling  close  *  and 
« to  increase.'  For  the  former,  see  Hen.  VHI :  V,  v,  50.  For  the  latter,  see  All's 
Well,  n,  iii,  163. 

35.  Walker.  (^Vers.,  &c.,  p.  28).  This  line  is  suspicious.  It  seems  scarcely  pos- 
sible that  sorrow  should  ever  have  been  a  trisyllable. 

35.  drops]  Malone: 

'—— lacrymas  non  sponte  cadentes 
Eflfudit,  gemitusque  expressit  pectore  laeto ; 
Non  aliter  manifesta  potens  abscondere  mentis 
Gaudia,  quam  lacrymis.' — Lucam,  Lib.  ix,  103S. 

There  was  no  English  translation  of  Lucan  before  1614.  We  meet  with  the  same 
sentiment  again  in  Wint.  Tale,  V,  ii,  50;  Much  Ado,  I,  i,  22-29. 

35.  kinsmen]  Hunter.  Perhaps  the  reading  of  F^  should  have  been  preferred, 
meaning  Macbeth.     But  compare  V,  viii,  62. 

39.  Cumberland]  See  Holinshed,  Appendix,  p.  364. 

Steevens.  The  crown  of  Scotland  was  originally  not  hereditary.  When  a  suc- 
cessor was  declared  in  the  lifetime  of  a  king  (as  was  often  the  case),  the  title  of 
Prince  of  Cumberland  was  immediately  bestowed  on  him  as  the  mark  of  his  desig- 
nation. Cumberland  was  at  that  time  held  by  Scotland  of  the  crown  of  England, 
as  a  fief. 

Clarendon.  The  district  called  by  this  name  included,  besides  the  counties  of 
Cumberland  and  Westmoreland,  Northern  Strathclyde. 

42.  Inverness]  Hunter.  It  may  seem  hypercritical  to  remark  that  the  Ff  have 
*  Envemes ;  *  and  yet  a  nice  ear  will  perceive  that  the  absolute  melody  of  Sh.'s  verse 
is  better  preserved  by  the  old  reading  than  the  new.  In  a  picture  by  a  great  master 
the  least  touch  of  an  inferior  hand  is  perceived. 


ACT  I,  sc.  iv.]  -        MACBETH,  49 

Macb.     The  rest  is  labour,  which  is  not  used  for  you. 
I'll  be  myself  the  harbinger,  and  make  joyful  45 

The  hearing  of  my  wife  with  your  approach  ; 
So,  humbly  take  my  leave. 

Du7i,  My  worthy  Cawdor ! 

Macb,  \Aside^    The  Prince  of  Cumberland !  that  is  a  step, 
On  which  I  must  fall  down,  or  else  o'erleap, 
For  in  my  way  it  lies.     Stars,  hide  your  fires  ;  50 

Let  not  light  see  my  black  and  deep  desires  : 
The  eye  wink  at  the  hand ;  yet  let  that  be 
Which  the  eye  fears,  when  it  is  done,  to  see.  \Exit 

Dun,     True,  worthy  Banquo ;  he  is  full  so  valiant, 
And  in  his  commendations  I  am  fed;  55 

45.     harbinger]    Rowe.      Herbenger  51.     not  light]   no  light  Han.      not 

FjF^Fj.     Harbinger  F^.  Night  Warb. 

48.     [Aside]  Rowe.     om.  Ff.  54.     so  valiant]  of  valour  Han. 

44.  This  line  Walker  [Crit,  &c.  iii,  252)  divides  at  'labour,'  making  'which  is 
not  used  for  you '  a  separate  line. 

Hunter.  The  word  *  rest  *  is  printed  with  a  capital  letter  in  F,,  thus  leaving  no 
doubt  in  this  somewhat  ambiguous  line  that  the  Poet's  intention  was  to  make  Mac- 
beth use  a  complimentary  expression  similar  to  what  he  had  before  said.  The  rest 
which  is  not  spent  in  the  king's  service  is  like  severe  labour. 

45.  harbinger]  Clarendon.  An  officer  of  the  royal  household,  whose  duty  it 
was  to  ride  in  advance  of  the  king  and  procure  lodgings  for  him  and  his  attendants 
on  their  arrival  at  any  place.      It  is  a  corruption  of  herberger.      Cotgrave  gives 

*  Mareschal  du  corps  du  Roy.     The  King's  chiefe  Harbinger.'     In  the  sense  of 

*  herald,'  or  *  forerunner,'  it  occurs  in  V,  vi,  10. 

48,  49.  See  Heraud's  Sh.  his  Inner  Life ;  Lond.  1865;  p.  343. 

50.  Stars]  Clarendon.  Macbeth  apparently  appeals  to  the  stars,  because  he  is 
contemplating  night  as  the  time  for  the  perpetration  of  the  deed.  There  is  nothing 
to  indicate  that  this  scene  took  place  at  night. 

52.  let]  Delius.  *  The  eye'  is  the  subject  to  'let.'  The  eye,  in  silent  collusion 
with  the  executing  hand,  is  to  let  that  take  place  which  it  fears  to  see  after  the  hand 
has  executed  it.  '  When  it  is  done '  is  equivalent  to  when  it  happens,  or  shall  be 
done — not,  when  it  has  happened,  or  has  been  done. 

54.  True]  Steevens.  We  must  imagine  that,  while  Macbeth  was  uttering  the  six 
preceding  lines,  Duncan  and  Banquo  had  been  conferring  apart.  Macbeth's  conduct 
appears  to  have  been  their  subject ;  and  to  some  encomium  bestowed  on  him  by 
Banquo,  the  reply  of  Duncan  refers. 

White.  A  touch  of  dramatic  art  common  with  Sh.,  which  shows  how  constantly 
he  kept  the  stage  and  the  audience  in  mind. 

Coleridge  (p.  245).  I  always  think  there  is  something  especially  Shakespearian  in 
Duncan's  speeches  throughout  this  scene,  such  pourings-forth,  such  abandonments, 
compared  with  the  language  of  vulgar  dramatists,  whose  characters  seem  to  have 
made  their  speeches  as  the  actors  learn  them. 

S  D 


50  MACBETH,  [act  i,  sc.  v. 

It  is  a  banquet  to  me.     Let*s  after  him,  56 

Whose  care  is  gone  before  to  bid  us  welcome : 

It  is  a  peerless  kinsman.  [Flourish,    Exeunt. 


Scene  V.     Inverness,     A  room  in  Macbeth* s  castle. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth,  reading  a  letter. 

Lady  M.  *  They  met  me  in  the  day  of  success ;  and  I  have 
learned,  by  the  perfectest  report,  they  have  more  in  them  than 
mortal  knowledge.  When  I  burned  in  desire  to  question  them 
further,  they  made  themselves  air,  into  which  they  vanished. 
Whiles  I  stood  rapt  in  the  wonder  of  it,  came  missives  from  the 

56.     Let^s]    Let   us    Pope,  +,  Cap.  Castle  at  Inverness.  Pope, +.    om  Ff. 
Steev.  Var.  Sing,  i.  Coll.  Huds.  Hal.  Enter...]  Enter  Macbeths  Wife  alone 

White,  Del.  with  a  Letter.  Ff.     Enter  Lady  Mack- 

58.     //]  He  H.  Rowe.  beth   alone   with   a   Letter.    Rowe,  +. 

[Flourish,    om.    F^F  F  ,    Pope,  Enter  Lady  Macbeth,  reading.  Cap. 
Han.  Cap.  I.     Lady  M.]  Lady.  Ff,  Rowe,  +. 

Scene  v.]   Scene  vii.   Pope,   Han.  2.    perfectest^  Rowe  ii.    perfectst  Y^. 

Warb.  Johns.  perfect' st  F^FjF^.    perfected  Warb. 

Inverness...]  Cap.  An  Apartment  4.     air^  into\  Air.    IntoY^. 

in  Mackbeth's   Castle.    Rowe.      An....  5.     W^>4i7«]  ^>4i/f  Pope, +  ,H.  Rowe. 

56.  banquet]  See  Rom.  and  Jul.  I,  v,  120,  and  notes  thereon. 

Clarendon.  In  this  passage  the  sense  is  not  so  restricted.  For  a  similar  senti- 
ment, see  Winter's  Tale  IV,  iv,  529. 

58.  It  is]  Clarendon.  There  is  a  touch  of  affectionate  familiarity  in  the  phrase 
•  It  is.' 

kinsman]  French  (p.  290).  Duncan  and  Macbeth,  as  the  sons  of  two  sisters, 
were  first-cousins ;  whilst  Duncan  and  Lady  Macbeth  were  third-cousins. 

I.  Clarendon.  She  reads  the  letter,  not  now  for  the  first  time. 

1.  success]  Staunton.  In  this  place,  as  in  I,  iii,  90,  Sh.  employs  success  in  the 
sense  it  bears  at  this  day ;  but  its  ordinary  signification,  when  unaccompanied  by  an 
adjective  of  quality,  was  events  issue,  &c. 

2.  report]  Johnson.  By  the  best  intelligence. 
Clarendon.  That  is,  by  my  own  experience. 

5.  Whiles]  Clarendon.  *  While'  and  *  whilst*  are  used  indifferently  by  Sh. 
The  first  has  frequently  been  altered  by  editors  to  one  of  the  forms  still  in  use.  See 
Jul.  Cass.  1,  ii,  209. 

of  it]  Clarendon.  For  a  similar  use  of  the  preposition,  see  0th.  IV,  i,  207. 

missives]  Steevens.  Messengers.     See  Ant.  and  Cleop.  II,  ii,  74. 

Clarendo.n.  In  Cotgrave  the  French  missive  is  given  in  the  sense  of  tettre  misstt^, 
according  to  the  usual  sense  of  the  English  derivative. 


ACT  I,  sc.  V.J  MA  CBETH,  5 1 

king,  who  all-hailed  me  "  Thane  of  Cawdor ; "  by  which  title, 

before,  these  weird  sisters  saluted  me,  and  referred  me  to  the 

coming  on  of  time,  with  "  Hail,  king  that  shalt  be !"     This  have 

I  thought  good  to  deliver  thee,  my  dearest  partner  of  greatness, 

that  thou   might'st   not  lose  the  dues  of  rejoicing,  by  being 

ignorant  of  what  greatness  is  promised  thee.      Lay  it  to  thy 

heart,  and  farewell.* 

Glamis  thou  art,  and  Cawdor,  and  shalt  be 

What  thou  art  promised :  yet  do  I  fear  thy  nature ; 

It  is  too  full  o'  the  milk  of  human  kindness  15 

To  catch  the  nearest  way :  thou  wouldst  be  great ; 

Art  not  without  ambition,  but  without 

The  illness  should  attend  it :  what  thou  wouldst  highly, 

That  wouldst  thou  holily ;  wouldst  not  play  false, 

6.  ail-hailed^ailhaii'dY^.Vo^.-k-.  lo.     lose"]  loose  Y ^ ^, 

all  haird  F^F^F^,  Rowe  ii.     ally  haWd  the  dues\  thy  dues  Cap.  conj. 

Rowe  i.  13.     art^  art  now  Seymour. 

7.  weird  ^  Theob.  7vey7oard  Ff,  Cawdor ^  and"]  Cawdor — and 
Warb.  Johns,     wayward  Rowe,  Pope.  Rowe,  +. 

weyard  Ktly.  14.     do  I'\  I  do  F^.     /  Pope,  Han. 

8.  be'\  be  hereafter  Upton.  15.     human'\  Rowe.     humane  YU 

6.  all-hailed]  Clarendon.  The  hyphen  is  doubtless  right.  Florio  (Ital.  Diet.) 
gives :  *  Salutare,  to  salute,  to  greet,  to  alhaile.' 

14.  fear]  Delius.  To  fear  with  the  accusative  is  equivalent  to  be  in  fear  for 
something.     So  in  Meas.  for  Meas.  Ill,  i,  74. 

milk]  Delius.  Sh.  elsewhere  uses  this  metaphor  in  IV,  iii,  98,  and  in  Rom. 
and  Jul.  Ill,  iii,  55. 

human  kindness]  Bodenstedt.  We  are  somewhat  astonished  to  learn  this 
about  Macbeth,  for  throughout  the  drama  we  find  no  trace  of  this  *  milk  of  human 
kindness.'  We  must  presume  that  the  Lady  has  too  high  an  opinion  of  her  husband — 
an  opinion  however  which  will  be  soon  enough  lowered.  We  already  know  him  as 
a  quickly-determined  *  murderer  in  thought  *  and  as  an  accomplished  hypocrite ;  and 
this  nature  of  his  is  not  belied  by  the  present  letter ;  it  appears  only  thinly  disguised. 
The  Lady  knows  at  once  what  he  is  after;  she  knows  and  openly  acknowledges  that 
his  *  milk  of  human  kindness '  will  not  deter  him  from  attempting  the  life  of  eld 
King  Duncan,  but  only  from  *  catching  the  nearest  way ; '  that  is,  from  laying  his 
own  hand  to  it. 

Clarendon.  Compare  Lear  I,  iv,  36J.. 

18.  illness]  White.  The  evil  nature,  the  evil  conditions,  as  the  old  phrase 
went. 

Clarendon.  The  word  is  not  used  elsewhere  by  Sh.  in  this  sense. 

19.  wouldst]  Abbott,  \  329.  Would,  like  should^  could,  ought  (Latin  *potui,* 
'debui'),  is  frequently  used  conditionally.  Hence,  *I  ivould  h^  great*  comes  to 
mean,  not  *  I  wished  to  be  great,'  but  *  I  wished  (subjunctive),*  i.  e.  *  1  should  wish.* 
There  is,  however,  very  little  difference  between  'thou  wouldest  wish'  and  *thou 


52  MACBETH,  [act  I,  sc.  v. 

And  yet  wouldst  wrongly  win  :  thou'ldst  have,  great  Glamis,  20 

That  which  cries  *  Thus  thou  must  do,  if  thou  have  it;' 

And  that  which  rather  thou  dost  fear  to  do 

Than  wishest  should  be  undone.     Hie  thee  hither, 

20,  21.  And....itf[  Pope.  Three  a  quotation.  No  quotation  in  Ff, 
lines,  ending  'nnnne...cryes,..M,  Ff.  Rowe. 

21.  *Thtis...M^^  As  a  quotation,  21.  have  iV]  have  me  Johns,  conj. 
Han   (reading  This).    Cap.   Steev.  '78,         Rann,  H.  Rowe. 

*85,  Sing,  ii,  Sta.   Del.   Ktly  (reading  22.     that  which"]  that's  what  Han. 

if  ihoudst),  Cla.    All  others  beginning        Cap.  H.  Rowe. 

with    Pope    give    *  Thus,,.. undone,    as  23.     Hie]  High  F,F^Fj. 

wishest,'  as  is  seen  in  the  present  passage.     See  also  I,  vii,  34.     It  is  a  natural  and 
common  mistake  to  say  *  would  is  used  for  should^  by  Elizabethan  writers.' 

21-23.  Johnson.  As  the  object  of  Macbeth's  desire  is  here  introduced  speaking 
of  itself,  it  is  necessary  to  read :  *  Thus  thou  must  do  if  thou  have  me.' 

Malone.  The  construction  is :  thou  would'st  have  that  \i.  e.  the  crown]  which 
cries  unto  thee,  *  thou  must  do  thus,  if  thou  would'st  have  it,  and  thou  must  do  that 
which  rather,'  &c.  The  difficulty  of  this  line  and  the  succeeding  hemistich  seems 
to  have  arisen  from  their  not  being  considered  as  part  of  the  speech  uttered  by  the 
object  of  Macbeth's  ambition. 

Clarendon.  But  this  interpretation  [Malone's]  seems  to  require  *  would'st  have 
it '  for  *  have  it,'  or,  at  least,  as  Johnson  proposed,  '  have  me.' 

Seymour.  The  difficulty  here  arises  from  the  accumulative  conjunction,  which 
leads  us  to  expect  new  matter,  whereas  that  which  follows  [line  23]  is  only  amplifi- 
cation. *  Thou  would'st  have  the  crown ;  which  cries,  thou  must  kill  Duncan,  if 
thou  have  it.*  This  is  an  act  which  thou  must  do,  if  thou  have  the  crown.  *  And' 
(adds  the  Lady)  *  what  thou  art  not  disinclined  to  do,  but  art  rather  fearful  to  per- 
formy  than  unwilling  to  have  executed.' 

Hunter.  *  Thus  thou  must  do'  seems  to  me  all  that  answers  to  *  that  which  cries ;' 
that  is,  Duncan  must  be  taken  off.  The  line  halts,  and  1  have  no  doubt  that  Sh. 
wrote,  *  if  thou  would'st  have  it.'  There  should  be  a  pause  at  *  that  *  in  line  22,  the 
mind  supplying  *  is  a  thing.'  *  What  he  must  do,'  the  murder,  to  secure  the  fulfil- 
ment of  the  witches'  prediction,  is  a  something,  which,  according  to  his  character  as 
previously  drawn  by  her,  he  would  rather  have  done  than  do  it.  Perhaps  there  is  a 
little  want  of  art  in  making  both  the  Thane  and  his  lady  fall  at  once  into  the  inten- 
tion of  perpetrating  a  deed  so  atrocious. 

Elwin.  This  passage  \^And  .  .  .  undone]  by  being  printed  as  part  of  the  figured 
exclamation  has  been  perverted  from  all  sense.  The  object  of  Macbeth's  ambition 
is  not  a  voluntary  agent  or  rational  existence,  and,  *  Thus  thou  must  doy  if  thou  have 
ity  is  expressed  simply  by  its  naturCy  which  cannot  be  supposed  also  to  comment 
upon  the  disposition  of  Macbeth.  The  reflections  on  his  sensations  in  connection 
with  it,  are  made  by  Lady  M.  as  in  her  own  person ;  and  mean,  *  And  it  is  that 
which,'  &c. 

Delius.  Might  not  Sh.  have  intended,  by  the  words  *  that  which  cries,'  something 
other  than  the  crown,  the  cold-blooded  instinct  to  murder  which  Macbeth  might 
have  possessed  ? 

Clarendon.  But  if  so  [as  Delius  suggests],  *  thou'ldst  have'  must  be  used  in  the 
sense  of  *  thou  should'st  have.'     This  is  quite  in  accordance  with  Sh.'s  usage,  but  is 


Acri.  sc.  V.J  MACBETH.  53 

That  I  may  pour  my  spirits  in  thine  ear, 

And  chastise  with  the  valour  of  my  tongue  25 

All  that  impedes  thee  from  the  golden  round, 

Which  fate  and  metaphysical  aid  doth  seem 

26.  impedes  thee'\  impeides  thee  F,.         Han. 

thee  hinders  F^F^F^.  27.     doth    seeni]    do   strive    Anon.* 

27.  metaphysical 'I  metaphysic  Pope,         both  seem  Allen,  MS. 

not  probable  in  this  case,  where  *  wouldst*  has  just  preceded,* four  times  over,  in  the 
other  sense.  If  we  put  the  words  *  Thus  .  .  .  have  it '  in  inverted  commas,  we  may 
interpret :  Thou  wouldst  have  Duncan's  murder,  which  cries,  *  Thus  thou  must  do 
if  thou  wouldst  have  the  crown,'  and  which  thou  rather,  &c. 

Coleridge.  Macbeth  is  described  by  Lady  Macbeth  so  as  at  the  same  time  to 
reveal  her  own  character.  Could  he  have  everything  he  wanted,  he  would  rather 
have  it  innocently ; — ignorant,  as,  alas !  how  many  of  us  are,  that  he  who  wishes  a 
temporal  end  for  itself  does  in  truth  will  the  means;  and  hence  the  danger  of 
indulging  fancies. 

23.  Hie  thee]  Abbott,  J  212.  Verbs  followed  by  thee  instead  of  thou  have 
been  called  reflexive.  But  though  *  haste  thee^  and  some  other  phrases  with  verbs 
of  motion,  may  be  thus  explained,  and  verbs  were  often  thus  used  in  Early  English, 
it  is  probable  that  *  look  thee^  *  haste  thee^*  are  to  be  explained  by  euphonic  reasons. 
Thee,  thus  used,  follows  imperatives,  which,  being  themselves  emphatic,  require  an 
unemphatic  pronoun.  The  Elizabethans  reduced  thou  to  thee.  We  have  gone  fur- 
ther, and  rejected  it  altogether. 

25.  chastise]  Clarendon.  Used  by  Sh.  with  the  accent  on  th£  first  syllable. 
Compare  Rich.  II :  II,  iii,  104.  The  only  exception,  and  that  somewhat  doubtful, 
is  in  Temp.  V,  i,  263. 

26.  round]  Steevens.  So  in  IV,  i,  88. 

Dyce  (Azotes,  &c).  The  words  which  Sh.  here  applies  to  a  diadem  had  been  pre- 
viously applied  to  a  ring  by  Abraham  Fraunce : — *  Wedding  ring,  farewell !  .  .  . 
full  well  did  I  cause  to  be  grauen  In  thy  golden  round  those  words,'  &c.  Sec,  Part 
of  The  Countesse  of  Pembrokes  Yuy church,  1 59 1. 

27.  seem]  Johnson.  For  seem,  the  sense  evidently  directs  us  to  read  seek.  The 
crown  to  which  fate  destines  thee,  and  which  preternatural  agents  endeavour  to 
bestow  upon  thee. 

Warburton.  Doth  seem  to  have  thee  crowned  withal,  is  not  sense.  To  make  it 
so,  it  should  be  supplied  thus :  doth  seem  desirous  to  have.  An  easy  alteration  will 
restore  the  poet's  true  reading :  •  doth  seem  To  have  crown'd  thee  withal.'  i.  e.  they 
seem  already  to  have  crowned  thee,  and  yet  thy  disposition  at  present  hinders  it  from 
taking  effect. 

Malone.  Metaphysical  seems  in  Sh.'s  time  to  have  had  no  other  meaning  than 
supernatural.  In  the  English  Dictionary,  by  H.  C,  1 655,  tnetaphy sicks  are  thus 
explained :  *  Supernatural  arts ! '  For  *  seem  To  have '  compare  All's  Well,  I, 
ii,  8,  9. 

Boswell.  *  To  have  thee  crown'd  *  is  to  desire  that  you  should  be  crowned. 

Singer.  This  phrase  of  Baret's,  *  If  all  things  be  as  ye  would  have  them  or 
agreeable  to  your  desire"^  is  a  common  mode  of  expression  with  old  writers. 

Walker  {Crit.  iii.  252).     Metaphysics  are  magic,    Marlowe,  Faustus,  ed.  Dyce, 

5* 


\ 


54  MACBETH,  [ACTi,  sc,v. 

To  have  thee  crown'd  withal. 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

What  is  your  tidings? 

Mess,     The  king  comes  here  to-night. 

Lady  M,  Thou'rt  mad  to  say  it : 

Is  not  thy  master  with  him  ?  who,  were't  so,  30 

Would  have  inform'd  for  preparation. 

Mess.     So  please  you,  it  is  true :  our  thane  is  coming: 
One  of  my  fellows  had  the  speed  of  him, 

28.     a  Messenger.]    Messenger.   Ff.  31,  32.     Mess.]  Att.  Cap. 

an  Attendant.  Cap. 

vol.  ii,  p.  8.  *  These  metaphysics  of  magicians,  And  necromantic  books,  are 
heavenly.*  Ford,  Broken  Heart,  I,  iii,  Dyce,  vol.  i,  233 :  *  The  metaphysics  are 
but  speculations  Of  the  celestial  bodies,'  &c. 

Deli  us.  *  To  seem  *  is  not  equivalent  here  to  appear,  but  rather  to  reveal.  We 
also  find  *  metaphysical  *  used  adverbially,  and  as  equivalent  to  supernatural,  in  the 
pseudo-Shakespearian  Drama,  *  The  Puritan,'  II,  i,  *  metaphysically  and  by  a  super- 
natural intelligence.' 

Bailey  (ii,  21).  There  are  many  other  plausible  ways  of  amending  the  defect; 
e.g.  deem,  aim,  mean — any  of  them  better  than  *seem.*  Another  is  to  substitute 
design  in  place  of  *  doth  seem.'  In  favour  of  mean  may  be  cited  King  John  III,  iv, 
119.  These  readings,  however,  are  none  of  them  conclusive,  and  the  same  may  be 
said  of  another  which  has  occurred  to  me :  to  replace  *  seem  *  by  frame  in  the  sense 
oi  fabricate,  I  have  been  struck  by  a  somewhat  parallel  passage  in  i  Hen.  VI :  II, 
V,  88  : — *  Levied  an  army,  weening  to  redeem,  And  have  install'd  me  in  the  diadem.* 
This  suggests  ween,  which  I  am  inclined  to  regard  as  the  likeliest  of  all. 

Clarendon.  In  Minsheu's  Spanish  Dictionary,  1599,  we  have  *  Metafisica,  things 
supematurall,  the  metaphisickes' ;  and  in  Florio's  World  of  Wordes,  printed  in  1 598, 
*  Metafisico,  one  that  professeth  things  supematurall.' 

28.  tidings]  Delius.  Sh.  uses  this  both  as  a  Singular  and  as  a  Plural. 

Clarendon.  See  Ant.  and  Cleop.  IV,  xiv,  112,  *this  tidings,'  and  As  You  Like 
It,  V,  iv,  159  :  *  these  tidings.* 

29-38,  Hunter  (ii,  173).  Here  is  a  stroke  of  nature.  Lady  Macbeth  had  been 
meditating  on  what  she  considered  the  nearest  way  to  the  honour  which  was  offered 
to  them,  and,  when  she  hears  that  the  king  was  about  to  put  himself  in  her  power, 
she  speaks  in  reference  to  the  ideas  which  had  passed  through  her  own  mind.  It 
then  occurs  to  her  that  she  might  have  disclosed  too  much ;  and  she  seeks  to  divert 
the  mind  of  the  attendant  from  any  too  strict  scrutiny  of  the  meaning  of  what  she 
had  uttered,  by  explaining  it  as  having  no  other  meaning  than  as  referring  to  the 
want  of  sufficient  notice  to  make  preparation  for  the  reception  of  so  illustrious  a 
guest. 

31.  inform'd]  Clarendon.  This  is  here  used  absolutely,  as  in  II,  i,  48.  It  is 
found  without  the  object  of  the  person  in  Rich.  II :  II,  i,  242  ;  and  Cor.  I,  vi,  42. 

33.  the  speed]  Clarendon.  One  of  my  fellow-servants  outstripped  his  master. 
The  p^'.rase  *  had  the  speed  of  him '  is  remarkable. 


ACT  I,  sc.  v.]  MACBETH.  55 

Who,  almost  dead  for  breath,  had  scarcely  more 
Than  would  make  up  his  message. 

Lady  M,  Give  him  tending;  35 

He  brings  great  news.  \Exit  Messenger, 

The  raven  himself  is  hoarse 
That  croaks  the  fatal  entrance  of  Duncan 
Under  my  battlements.     Come,  you  spirits 
That  tend  on  mortal  thoughts,  unsex  me  here, 

36.  One  line,  Rowe.     Two,  Ff.  38.    you  spirits']  ail  you  spirits  Pope, 
himself  m]  himself^  s  not  Warb.  +,  Cap.     come^  you  spirits  Steev  ('93). 

37.  entrance]  enterance  Cap.  Ktly.  Var.  Sing.  i.     spirits  of  evil  Ktly. 
Duncan]  Duncane  F^^F  F^.  39.     mortal]  deadly  H.  Rowe. 

35.  tending]  Clarendon.  Used  as  a  substantive  here  only  in  Sh. 

36.  raven]  Edwards  {Canons  of  Crit,  p.  152;  Lond.  1765).  She  calls  this  mes- 
senger the  raven,  and  from  line  34,  well  might  she  call  this  raven  hoarse. 

Johnson.  The  messenger,  says  the  servant,  had  hardly  breath  *  to  make  up  his 
message ;  *  to  which  the  lady  answers,  mentally,  that  he  may  well  want  breath ;  such 
a  message  would  add  hoarseness  to  the  raven.  That  even  the  bird,  whose  harsh 
voice  is  accustomed  to  predict  calamities,  could  not  croak  the  entrance  of  Duncan 
but  in  a  note  of  unwonted  harshness. 

FUSELI.  *  'Tis  certain  now — the  raven  himself  is  spent,  is  hoarse  by  croaking  this 
very  message,  the  fatal  entrance  of  Duncan  under  my  battlements.^ 

Collier  (ed.  i).  Lady  Macbeth  considers  the  fate  of  Duncan  so  certain  that  the 
ominous  raven  is  hoarse  with  proclaiming  it.  Warburton's  emendation  appears  to 
be  the  direct  opposite  of  what  was  intended  by  Sh.  Drayton,  in  his  *  Baron's  Wars,' 
1603,  b.  V,  St.  42,  has  these  lines  :  *  The  ominous  raven  with  a  dismal  cheer.  Through 
his  hoarse  beak  of  following  horror  tells.* 

Hunter.  There  are  probably  few  readers  who  do  not  understand  this  phrase  in 
its  plain  and  I  should  say  obvious  sense,  that  even  the  raven  which  croaks  the  fatal 
entrance  has  more  than  its  usual  hoarseness.  Nothing  is  more  common  than  to 
speak  of  the  raven  croaking  ominously. 

37.  entrance]  Abbott,  J  477.  R^  and  liquids  in  dissyllables ^  are  frequently  pro- 
nounced as  though  an  extra  vowel  were  introduced  between  them  and  the  preceding 
consonant.    [See  also  Walker  (  Vers.  p.  57).  Ed.] 

38.  my]  Hunter.  The  word  *  my  *  is  purposely  used  by  Sh.  to  let  the  audience 
into  the  spirit  of  the  character  intended  for  the  wife  of  the  Thane ;  nihil  non  arro- 
gat;  the  castle  is  hers — not  Macbeth's,  not  theirs  jointly.  It  prepares  for  that  over- 
bearing of  the  milder  and  gentler  spirit  of  the  Thane  which  follows. 

battlements]  Knight.  If  there  be  any  one  who  does  not  feel  the  sublimity  of 
the  pause  after  <  battlements,'  we  can  only  say  that  he  has  yet  to  study  Sh. 

Hudson.  This  passage  is  often  sadly  marred  in  the  reading  by  laying  peculiar 
stress  upon  *my;^  as  the  next  sentence  also  is  in  the  printing  by  repeating  Come, 
tlius  suppressing  the  pause  wherein  the  speaker  gathers  and  nerves  herself  up  to  the 
terrible  strain  that  follows. 

spirits]  Malone.  In  Pierce  Pennilesse  his  Supplication  to  the  Devil,  by 
T.  Nashe,  1592,  Sh.  might  have  found  a  particular  description  of  these  spirits  and 
of  their  office :  <  The  second  kind  of  devils,  which  he  most  employeth,  are  those 


56  MACBETH.  [act  i,  sc.  v. 

And  fill  me,  from  the  crown  to  the  toe,  top-full  40 

Of  direst  cruelty !  make  thick  my  blood, 
Stop  up  the  access  and  passage  to  remorse, 
That  no  compunctious  visitings  of  nature 
Shake  my  fell  purpose,  nor  keep  peace  between 

41.     direst]  direct  Warb.  Johns. 

northern  Martii,  called  the  spirits  of  fevenge,  and  the  authors  of  massacres,  and 
seedsmen  of  mischief ;  for  they  have  commission  to  incense  men  to  rapines,  sacrilege, 
theft,  murder,  wrath,  fury,  and  all  manner  of  cruelties ;  and  they  command  certain 
of  the  southern  spirits  to  wait  upon  them,  as  also  great  Arioch,  that  is  termed  the 
spirit  of  revenge.'' 

39.  mortal]  Johnson.  Not  the  thoughts  of  mortals^  but  murderous,  deadly,  or 
destructive  designs.     See  III,  iv,  81,  and  IV,  iii,  3. 

42.  access]  Abbott,  J  490.  Many  words,  such  as  <  edict,'  *  outrage,'  &c.,  are 
accented  in  a  varying  maimer.  The  key  to  this  inconsistency  is,  perhaps,  to  be  found 
in  Ben  Jonson's  remark  that  all  dissyllabic  nouns,  if  they  be  simple,  are  accented  on 
the  first.  Hence  *  edict  *  and  *  outrage  *  would  generally  be  accented  on  the  first, 
but,  when  they  were  regarded  as  derived  from  verbs,  they  would  be  accented  on  the 
second.  And  so,  perhaps,  when  *  exile '  is  regarded  as  a  person,  and  therefore  a 
*  sin:^>le '  noun,  the  accent  is  on  the  first ;  but  when  as  *  the  state  of  being  exiled,'  it  is 
on  the  last.  But  naturally,  where  the  difference  is  so  slight,  much  variety  may  be 
expected.  Ben  Jonson  adds  that  *  all  verbs  coming  from  the  Latin,  either  of  the 
supine  or  otherwise,  hold  the  accent  as  it  is  found  in  the  first  person  present  of  those 
Latin  verbs ;  as  from  ci/ebro,  cilebrate,^  The  same  fluctuation  between  the  English 
and  French  accent  is  found  in  Chaucer  (Prof.  Child,  quoted  by  Ellis,  Early  English 
Pronunciation,  i,  369). 

Clarendon.  *  Access '  is  always  accented  by  Sh.  on  the  second  syllable,  except 
in  Ham.  II,  i,  no. 

remorse]  Clarendon.  Relenting,  used  anciently  to  signify  repentance  not  only 
for  a  deed  done,  but  also  for  a  thought  conceived.     See  Mer.  of  Ven.  IV,  i,  20. 

43.  compunctious]  Clarendon.  Only  used  in  this  passage  in  Sh.,  and  '  com- 
punction' not  at  all.  *Compunct'  is  used  in  Wicklif's  translation  of  the  Bible, 
Acts  ii,  37,  and  *  compunclure '  by  Jeremy  Taylor. 

44.  peace. ...it]  Johnson.  The  intent  of  Lady  Macbeth  evidently  is  to  wish 
that  no  womanish  tenderness  or  conscientious  remorse  may  hinder  her  purpose  from 
proceeding  to  effect ;  but  neither  this,  nor  any  other  sense,  is  expressed  by  the  present 
reading;  perhaps  Sh.  wrote  *  keep /^r^  between,'  &c.,  which  may  signify  io  pass 
between,  to  intervene. 

Malone.  a  similar  expression  is  found  in  The  Tragicall  Hystorie  of  Romeus  and 

Juliet,  1562:  * the  lady  no  way  could  Kepe  trewse  betwene  her  greefcs  and 

her.'    Davenant's  version  sometimes  affords  a  reasonably  good  comment,  [q.  v.  Ed.] 

Knight.  If  fear,  compassion,  or  any  other  compunctious  visitings,  stand  between 
a  cruel  purpose  and  its  realization,  they  may  be  said  to  keep  peace  between  them,  as 
one  who  interferes  between  a  violent  man  and  the  object  of  his  wrath  keeps  peace. 

Hudson.  One  might  naturally  think  this  should  read,  *  nor  break  peace  between 
the  effect  and  it ; '  that  is,  nor  make  the  effect  contradict,  or  fall  at  strife  with,  the 


ACT  I.  sc.  v.]  MA  CBETH.  5 ^ 

The  effect  and  it !     Come  to  my  woman's  breasts,  45 

And  take  my  milk  for  gall,  you  murdering  ministers, 

Wherever  in  your  sightless  substances 

You  wait  on  nature's  mischief!     Come,  thick  night. 

And  pall  thee  in  the  dunnest  smoke  of  hell. 

That  my  keen  knife  see  not  the  wound  it  makes,  50 

Nor  heaven  peep  through  the  blanket  of  the  dark, 

45.  effect  and  it\  effecting  it  Becket.  45.     //]  kit  F,F,. 
effect^  essect  F,. 

purpose.     The  sense,  however,  doubtless  is,  nor  make  any  delay,  any  rest,  any  pcuise 
for  thought^  between  the  purpose  and  the  act. 

Bailey  (ii,  24).  Let  us  read,  *  nor  keep  space  between,'  &c.  She  supplicates  that 
no  compunctious  feelings  may  keep  space  between  (1.  e.  interpose  between)  her  pur- 
pose and  its  execution. 

46.  take]  Johnson.  *  Take  away  my  milk,  and  put  gail  into  the  place.* 
Delius.  It  rather  means.  Nourish  yourselves  with  my  milk,  which,  through  my 

being  unsexed,  has  turned  to  gall. 

Keightley.  Perhaps  we  should  read  with  for  *  for,*  taking  *  take '  in  the  sense  of 
tinge,  infect,  a  sense  it  often  bears. 

ministers]  Abbott.  See  I,  iii,  139. 

47.  sightless]  Delius.  This  means  perhaps  something  more  than  *  invisible,* 
and  signifies,  in  connection  with  *  substances,*  a  quality  which  will  not  bear  the 
looking  at,  which  is  repulsive  to  behold.     As  in  King  John  III,  i,  44. 

Clarendon.  Invisible  forms.  Compare  I,  vii,  23.  In  King  John  III,  i,  44, 
sightless  means  *  unsightly,'  but  the  sense  is  not  suitable  here.  So  we  have  in  Meas. 
for  Meas.  Ill,  i,  124,  *the  viewless  winds.*  Somewhat  similar  is  the  use  of  'care- 
less,* I,  iv,  II,  in  this  play. 

48.  mischief]  Elwin.  This  expresses  both  injury  engendered  in  human  nature 
and  done  to  it. 

Clarendon.  Reidy  to  abet  any  evil  done  throughout  the  world, 

49.  pall]  Warburton.  That  is,  wrap  thyself  in  a  paii. 

Singer.  From  the  Latin  pailio,  to  wrap,  to  invest,  to  cover  or  hide  as  with  a 
mantle  or  cloak. 

Collier  (ed.  2).  We  believe  that  Sh.  alone  uses  *  pall*  as  a  verb. 

Clarendon.  Used  in  this  sense  here  only  by  Sh. 

dunnest]  Steevens.  The  Rambler  (No.  168)  criticises  the  epithet  *dun*  as 
mean.  Milton,  however,  appears  to  have  been  of  a  different  opinion,  and  has  rep- 
resented Satan  as  flying  (Par.  Lost,  iii,  7)  * in  the  dun  air  sublime.'    So  also  in 

Comus,  * sin  Which  these  dun  shades  will  ne'er  report.* 

Clarendon.  To  our  ears  « dun '  no  longer  sounds  mean.  As  Horace  says,  Ars 
Poet.  70,  71,  *  Multa  renascentur  quae  jam  cecidere,  cadentque  Qux  nunc  sunt  in 
honore  vocabula,  si  volet  usus.* 

50.  see  not]  Elwin.  That  the  wound  may  not  be  reflected  in  the  brightness  of 
the  blade. 

51.  l^eep]  Keightley.  At  that  time  *  peep*  was  to  gaze  earnestly  and  steadily  at 
anything ;  not  furtively,  as  now. 

blanket]   Steevens.    Drayton,  in  the  26th  Song  of  his  Polyoldion,   has    an 


58  MACBETH.  [Acri,  sc.  V. 

To  cry 'Hold,  hold!' 

Enter  Macbeth. 
Great  Glamis !  worthy  Cawdor ! 

52.     [Embracing  him.  Rowe,  +.  worthy\  my  worthy  Seymour. 

expression  like  this:  *  Thick  vapours,  that,  IWifruggs^  still  hang  the  troubled 
air.' 

Malone.  Polyolbion  was  not  published  till  161 2,  after  this  play  had  certainly  been 
exhibited ;  but  in  an  earlier  piece  Drayton  has  the  same  expression,  *  The  sullen 
night  in  mistie  rtigge  is  wrapped.* — Mortimeriados^  ^596.  Blanket  was  perhaps 
suggested  by  the  coarse  woollen  curtain  of  Sh.'s  own  theatre,  through  which,  proba- 
bly, while  the  house  was  yet  but  half-lighted,  he  had  himself  often  peeped. 

Halliwell.  That  the  players  did  sometimes  «peep*  through  such  a  curtain 
appears  from  the  Prologue  to  The  Unfortunate  Lovers^  1643. 

49-51.  Whiter  (p.  155,  et  seq.).  Nothing  is  more  certain  than  that  all  the  images 
in  this  passage  are  borrowed  from  the  stage.  The  peculiar  and  appropriate  dress  of 
Tragedy  is  a  pa/l  and  a  knife.  When  Tragedies  were  represented,  the  stage  was 
hung  with  blacky  which  Malone  in  his  Theatrical  Memoirs  (p.  89)  says  was  *  no 
more  than  one  piece  of  black  baize  placed  at  the  back  of  the  stage,  in  the  room  of 
the  tapestry,  which  was  the  common  decoration  when  Comedies  were  acted.'  I  am 
persuaded  however  that,  on  the 'same  occasions,  the  Heavens^  or  the  Roof  of  the 
Stage,  underwent  likewise  some  gloomy  transformation.  This  might  be  done  by 
covering  with  black  those  decorations  about  the  roof  which  were  de&igned  to 
imitate  the  appearance  of  the  Heavens,  conveying  to  the  audience  the  idea  of  a 
dark  and  gloomy  night,  in  which  every  luminary  was  hidden  from  tho  view.  In 
the  Rape  of  Lucrece  (764-770)  there  is  a  wonderful  coincidence  with  this  passage, 
in  which  we  have  not  only  *  Black  stage  for  Tragedies  and  murders  fell,   but  also 

*  comfort-killing  Night,  image  of  Hell,'  corresponding  with  thick  Night,  and  the 
dunnest  smoke  of  Hell.  Again,  in  line  788,  we  have  *  Through  Night's  black 
bosom  should  not  peep  again.'  [The  author  cites,  in  support  of  his  position,  many 
parallel  passages  from  Sh.  and  his  contemporary  p'Uhors.  Through  lack  of  space, 
the  student  must  be  referred  for  them  to  the  volum*  itself,  which,  il  he  possess  it,  is 
no  hardship.  Ed.] 

Collier  [Azotes,  &c.  (ed.  i)  p.  408).  In  fact,  it  is  not  at  all  knuwn  whether  the 
curtain,  separating  the  audience  from  the  actors,  wp*"  woollen  or  linen.  As  it  seems 
to  us,  the  substitution  the  (MS.)  recommends  can'»ot  be  doubted — *the  blankness 
of  the  dark.'    The  scribe  misheard  the  termination  i^*"  blankness,  and  absurdly  wrote 

*  blanket.' 

Singer  (Sh.  Find.  &c.  p.  252).  See  3  Hen.  VI :  IV,  'v,  22,  *  night's  black  mantle,' 
and  I  Hen.  VI :  II,  ii,  2,  *  night — Whose  pitchy  mantle  over\'eird,'  &c. 

Brown  (p.  178).  [After  ridiculing  Dr.  Johnson's  condemnation  in  this  passage  of 
such  words  as  *  dun,'  and  *  knife,'  and  *  peep,'  and  supposing  that  it  would  be  mightier 
in  Johnsonian  phrase:  'direct  a  glance  of  perquisition  through  the  fleecy-woven 
integument  of  the  tenebrosity,'  the  author  adds :]  Lady  Macbeth  determines  on  mur- 
dering the  King  in  his  bed.  *  Top-full  of  direct  [jiV]  cruelty '  in  the  anticipation 
of  the  deed,  her  thoughts  occupied  in  the  very  act  of  stabbing  her  guest  in  his  bed. 


ACTi,  sc.  v.]  MACBETH.  59 

Greater  than  both,  by  the  all-hail  hereafter ! 

53.     [They  embrace]  Coll.  ii. 

she  naturally,  and  consequently  with  propriety,  takes  a  metaphor  from  it  in  the  word 
blanket.  By  the  occasional  skilful  application  of  a  common  every-day  expression, 
the  application  of  a  household  word,  the  mingling  of  the  conveniences  or  wants  of 
life  with  deeds  of  death,  our  imagination,  while  reading  Sh.,  is  so  forcibly  enthralled. 
Had  the  old  King  been  described  as  reposing  on  a  stately  couch,  after  the  fatigue  of 
his  journey,  we  could  not  have  sympathised  with  his  fate  so  much,  as  when  we  find 
him,  like  ourselves,  sleeping  in  a  bed,  with  sheets  and  blankets.  Such  is  at  least  a 
portion  of  Sh.'s  magic.     To  find  fault  with  it  is  to  wish  to  be  disenchanted. 

Dyce.  Coleridge  proposed  * the  blank  height  of  the  dark,'  &c. ;  a  conjecture 

which  appeared  in  the  first  ed.  of  his  Table  Talk  (ii,  296),  but  which,  on  my  urging 
its  absurdity  to  the  editor,  was  omitted  in  the  second  ed.  of  that  valuable  miscellany. 
The  old  reading  is  thoroughly  confirmed  by  the  citations  in  the  Variorum. 

C.  Mansfield  Ingleby  (A1  6r»  Qu.  1853,  vii,  546).  In  the  R.  of  L.,  st.  cxv,  we 
have  a  passage  very  nearly  parallel,  where  the  cloak  of  night  is  invoked  to  screen  a 
deed  of  adultery;  in  Macbeth  the  blanket  of  night  is  invoked  to  hide  a  murder; 
but  the  foul,  reeking,  smoky  cloak  of  night,  in  the  passage  just  referred  to,  is  clearly 
parallel  to  the  smoky  blanket  of  night  in  Macbeth.  The  complete  imagery  of  both 
passages  has  been  happily  caught  by  Carlyle  (Sartor  Kesartus),  who,  in  describing 
night,  makes  TeufelsdrSckh  say,  *  Oh,  under  that  hideous  coverlet  of  vapours,  and 
putrefactions,  and  unimaginable  gases,  what  a  fermenting-vat  lies  simmering  and 
hid  !  * 

White,  The  man  who  does  not  apprehend  the  meaning  and  the  pertinence  of  the 
figure,  *  the  blanket  of  the  dark,'  had  better  shut  his  Sh.,  and  give  his  days  and 
nights  to  the  perusal  of some  more  correct  and  classic  writer. 

Knight  (ed.  2).  The  phrase  in  *  Cymb.'  Ill,  i,  44,  *  If  Caesar  could  hide  the  sun 
from  us  with  a  blanket,^  gives  the  key  to  the  metaphor. 

Collier  (ed.  2).'  This  passage  from  *  Cymb.'  has  no  other  relation  to  the  line  in 
*  Macbeth  *  than  that  *  blanket '  occurs  in  both  plays. 

Bailey  (i,  92).  Blackness  is  in  every  way  preferable  to  blankness ;  and  wc  must 
bear  in  mind  that  *  the  dark^  is  here  a  synonyme  for  the  night.  This  reading  is  sup- 
ported by  Ant.  and  Cleop.  I,  iv,  13.  And  it  may  also  derive  indirect  support  from 
a  remarkable  expression  in  the  epistle  of  St.  Jude,  verse  xiii :  *  Wandering  stars,  to 
whom  is  reserved  the  blackness  of  darkness  for  ever.' 

Staunton.  If  *  blanket  *  is  a  word  too  coarse  for  the  delicacy  of  the  commenta- 
tors, what  say  they  to  the  following  from  Middleton's  *  Blurt  Master  Constable,* 
III,  i  ? — *  Blest  night,  wrap  Cynthia  in  a  sable  sheetJ* 

Clarendon.  The  covering  of  the  sleeping  world.  From  the  French  blanchet. 
For  homeliness  of  expression  we  may  compare  another  passage  from  MortimeHados, 
sig.  C  2  recto :  •  As  when  we  see  the  spring-begetting  Sunne,  In  heauens  black 
night-gowne  couered  from  our  sight.' 

Halliwell.  There  is  no  reason  for  suspecting  any  corruption. 

Jessopp  {N.  6t*  Qu.  3d  S.  VII,  Jan.  21,  '65).  For  *  blanket*  substitute  blankest, 
which  conveys  the  idea  of  the  most  intense  darkness,  and,  being  a  word  such  as  Sh. 
would  use,  adds  to  the  power  of  the  passage. 

[In  N".  &*  Qu.,  Apr.  i,  '65,  *  B.  T.'  proposed  *blonket,^  with  the  meaning  given  to 


60  MACBETH.  [act  i,  sc.  y. 

Thy  letters  have  transported  me  beyond 

This  ignorant  present,  and  I  feel  now  5£ 

The  future  in  the  instant. 

Macb.  My  dearest  love, 

Duncan  comes  here  to-night. 

Lady  M.  And  when  goes  hence  ? 

Macb,     To-morrow,  as  he  purposes. 

Lady  M.  O,  never 

55,56.     7'^w.../i//«r^]  One  line,  Ktly.  56.     il^']  om.  Pope,  + . 

55.    present']  present  time  Pope,  +,  dearest]  dear'st  Cap.  Dyce  ii, 

Cap.  Steev.  ('73,  '78).  Huds. 

feel]  feel  me  Anon.*  57.     Duncan]  Duncane  F,F  F^. 

it  in  old  dictionaries,  of  *■  thunder-cloud.'     But  on  June  10,  '65,  he  admitted  his 
error,  *  as,  after  much  search,  no  confirmation  of  that  sense'  could  be  found.  Ed.] 

52.  hold !]  H.  RowE.  Much  has  been  written  to  show  the  enormous  wickedness 
of  this  speech ;  but  my  Devil,  who  is  a  kind  of  short-hand  critic,  has  summed  it  up 
in  one  word — Charming. 

ToLLET.  The  thought  is  taken  from  the  old  military  laws  which  inflicted  capital 
punishment  upon  *  whosoever  shall  strike  stroke  at  his  adversary,  either  in  the  heat 
or  otherwise,  if  a  third  do  cry  hold^  to  the  intent  to  part  them ;  except  that  they  did 
fight  a  combat  in  a  place  enclosed ;  and  then  no  man  shall  be  so  hardy  as  to  bid 
holdt  but  the  general.*  P.  264  of  Bellay's  Instructions  for  the  PVars,  translated  in 
1589. 

53.  all-hail]  Clarendon.  Lady  M.  speaks  as  if  she  had  heard  the  words  as 
spoken  by  the  witch,  I,  iii,  50,  and  not  merely  read  them  as  reported  in  her  hus- 
band's letter,  I,  v,  8. 

hereafter]  Mrs.  Jameson  (vol.  ii,  p.  324).  This  is  surely  the  very  rapture  of 
ambition !  and  those  who  have  heard  Mrs.  Siddons  pronounce  the  word  hereafter, 
cannot  forget  the  look,  the  tone,  which  seemed  to  give  her  audiidrs  a  glimpse  of  that 
awful  future,  which  she,  in  her  prophetic  fury,  beholds  upon  the  instant. 

55.  Hunter.  This  line  halts,  and  should,  I  think,  be  completed  thus,  *  I  feel 
[e'en]  now,'  rather  than  by  the  introduction  of  the  word  *  time.'  Nothing  is  more 
plain  than  that,  in  considering  the  text  of  this  play,  great  license  is  to  be  given  to 
an  editor.  [Lettsom  proposed  the  same  emendation,  ap.  Dyce  (ed.  2).  Ed.] 

Dyce.  Steevens  remarks :  *  The  sense  does  not  require  the  word  time ' — which  is 
true ;  •  and  it  is  too  much  for  the  measure ' — which  is  nonsense. 

Walker  { Vers.  &c.  p.  156).  Here  I  suspect  a  word  has  dropt  out — an  accident 
which  seems  to  have  happened  not  unfrequently  in  the  Folio  Macbeth. 

ignorant]  Johnson.  This  has  here  the  signification  of  unknowing ;  I  feel  by 
anticipation  those  future  honours,  of  which,  according  to  the  process  of  nature,  the 
present  time  would  be  ignorant. 

Capell  (ii,  8).  Ignorant  of  either  honour  or  greatness,  which  reside  in  nothing 
but  royalty. 

Delius.  It  seems  to  me  to  be  more  Shakespearian  to  take  this  in  a  passive  sense, 
like  so  many  other  adjectives  in  Sh. — our  unknown,  obscure,  inglorious  present.  As 
in  Wint.  Tale,  I,  ii,  397,  *  ignorant  concealment.* 

feel]  Abbott,  {  484.  See  I,  ii,  5. 


ACT  I,  SC.  v.]  MACBETH.  6 1 

Shall  sun  that  morrow  see ! 

Your  face,  my  thane,  is  as  a  book  where  men  60 

May  read  strange  matters.     To  beguile  the  time. 

Look  like  the  time ;  bear  welcome  in  your  eye, 

Your  hand,  your  tongue :  look  like  the  innocent  flower. 

But  be  the  serpent  under't.     He  that's  coming 

Must  be  provided  for:  and  you  shall  put  65 

This  night's  great  business  into  my  dispatch ; 

Which  shall  to  all  our  nights  and  days  to  come 

Give  solely  sovereign  sway  and  masterdom. 

Macb.     We  will  speak  further. 

Lady  Macb,  Only  look  up  clear ; 

To  alter  favour  ever  is  to  fear  :  70 

59.  sun'\  his  sun  Jackson.  matters^   to. ..time.    F^F^.     matters  to... 

60.  a]  om.  Fj,.  time.  F^F^,  Pope. 

61.  matters.       To....time^     Theob.  70.     to  fear"]  and  fear  Theoh.  \\. 

59.  Shall.. . see !]  Abbott,  J  511.  After  Lady  M.  has  openly  proposed  the 
murder  of  Duncan  in  these  words,  she  pauses  to  watch  the  effect  of  her  words  till 
she  continues.  For  further  instances  of  broken  lines  see  I,  ii,  20,  37,  41,  51,  59; 
I,  iii,  103;  II,  iii,  120;  II,  ii,  20;  IV,,  iii,  28.  y 

60.  book]  Clarendon.  Compare  Rom.  and  Jul.  I,  iii,  81. 

61.  time]  Delius.  Time  with  the  definite  article  means  in  Sh.  the  present  time, 
the  age  we  live  in.  In  order  to  beguile  men  you  must  assume  the  same  expression 
OS  they  do.     See  I,  vii,  81. 

Clarendon.  Not  wile  away  the  time — though  Sh.  elsewhere  uses  the  phrase  in 
this  sense,  in  Twelfth  Night,  III,  iii,  41 — but  delude  all  observers.  Compare 
Rich.  Ill :  V,  iii,  92. 

62.  like  the  time]  Steevens.  The  same  expression  occurs  in  Daniel's  Civil 
IVars,  Book  viii — *  He  draws  a  traverse  'twixt  his  grievances;  Looks  like  the  time : 
his  eye  made  not  report.'  [See  Appendix,  p.  388.  Ed.] 

76.  favour]  Steevens.  Look,  countenance. 

to  fear]  Seymour.  To  change  countenance  is  always  a  dangerous  indication  of 
what  is  passing  in  the  mind ;  to  fear  for,  to  give  cause  for  fear. 

C.  LOFFT.  If  you  change  your  countenance  thus,  your  fears  will  not  fail  to  be 
known ;  since  all  men  understand  this  symptom  by  which  fear  betrays  itself. 

Elwin.  The  sense  of  the  sentence  is  intentionally  doubled.  To  wear  an  altered 
face,  an  unusual  expression,  is  at  the  same  time  to  be  irresolute,  and  to  render  others 
apprehensive  of  a  hidden  intention. 

Clarendon.  Lady  M.  detects  more  than  irresolution  in  her  husband's  last  speech. 

Forsyth  (p.  64).  Action,  life,  passion — men  and  women  in  every  possible 
position — are  nearly  all  in  all  throughout  Sh.'s  works ;  external  nature  being  used 
only  as  a  foil  to  show  off  the  lights  and  shades  of  the  great  drama  of  human  exist- 
ence. .  .  .  Sh.  does  not  paint  landscape  at  all,  as  we  now  understand  that  word,  not 
even  for  his  own  special  dramatic  purposes.  In  observation  his  faculty  is  micro- 
scopical ;  a  wide  and  extended  view  of  natural  scenery  he  will  not  pourtray.  With 
6 


62  MACBETH.  [act  i,  sc.  vi. 

Leave  all  the  rest  to  me.  [Exeunt, 


Scene  VI.     Before  Macbeth! s  castle. 

Hautboys  and  torches.     Enter  DUNCAN,  MALCOLM,  DONALBAIN,  Banquo,  Lennox, 

Macduff,  Ross,  Angus,  and  Attendants. 

Dim,     This  castle  hath  a  pleasant  seat;  the  air 

Scene  vl]  Scene  viil  Pope  i,  Han.  boyes,  and  Torches.  Ff  (Hoboys,  F^) 

Warb.  Johns.    Scene  ii.  Popeii.   Scene  Hautboys.     Servants  of  Macbeth  with 

IV.  Rowe  i.  Torches.  Cap. 

Before....]     The    dstle    Gate.  i.     Duncan...]  King...  Ff. 

Rowe,  Pope,  Han.     Before  Macbeth's  I,  2.     the  air,.. itself '\    Rowe.     One 

Castle  Gate.  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  line,  Ff. 

Hautboys  and  torches.]  Rowe.    Ho- 

unerring  accuracy  of  eye  he  seizes  on  particular  objects,  investing  them  with  the 
lively  hues  of  his  exuberant  imagination ;  he  does  not  see,  he  does  not  choose  to 
describe,  an  entire  landscape.  .  .  .  What  is  perhaps  the  most  noticeable  of  all  is, 
that  in  his  sketches,  incomplete  as  they  are,  of  natural  scenery,  he  scarcely  ever 
mentions  that  form  of  it  which  is  now  held  as  the  most  enchanting,  sublime  and 
attractive  to  cultivated  minds — the  scenery,  namely,  of  mountainous  regions.  .  .  . 
Whatever  else  the  great  poet  saw  in  nature,  he  apparently  could  not  see  the  grandeur 
of  the  everlasting  hills ;  *  the  difficult  air  of  the  iced  mountain  top '  was  by  him 
unbreathed  and  unknown.  Once  only,  in  the  whole  range  of  his  works  (unless  we 
should  except  some  slight  references  in  Cymbeline),  does  he  introduce  his  readers 
to  the  heart  of  a  wild  and  hilly  region  in  the  present  passage.  .  .  .  The  allusions  to 
the  site  of  Macbeth's  castle  happen  to  be  perfectly  correct;  the  wonder  is  how  the 
writer  should  have  been  conversant  with  such  details.  .  .  .  [Whether  Sh.  described 
the  scene  from  personal  observation  or  from  an  inspiration  of  genius],  the  puzzle  is 
how  the  describer  should  have  overlooked  other  features  of  infinitely  more  promi- 
nence and  importance  in  the  landscape  surrounding  Inverness — the  magnificent 
sweep  of  river  and  estuary,  and  the  grand  domination  of  the  different  mountain 
ranges. 

I.  seat]  Johnson  [Obs.  1745).  I  propose  site^  as  the  ancient  word  for  situation. 
For  the  sake  of  the  measure  I  adjust  line  6,  *  Smells  wooingly.  Here  is  no  jutting 
frieze.'  [As  Dr.  Johnson  did  not  repeat  these  emendations  in  his  edition  of  1765, 
we  may  presume  that  they  were  withdrawn.  Ed.] 

Reed.  Compare  Bacon's  Essays,  xlv :  *  He  that  builds  a  faire  house  upon  an  iil 
seaty  committcth  himself  to  prison.  Neither  doe  I  reckon  it  an  ill  seat,  only  where 
the  aire  is  unwholesome,  but  likewise  where  the  aire  is  unequal ;  as  you  shall  see 
many  fine  seats  set  upon  a  knap  of  ground  invironed  with  higher  hills  round  about 
it,  whereby  the  heat  of  the  sunne  is  pent  in,  and  the  wind  gathereth  as  in  troughs; 
so  as  you  shall  have,  and  that  suddenly,  as  great  diversitie  of  heat  and  cold,  as  if 
you  dwelt  in  several  places.' 

Sir  J.  Reynolds.  This  short  dialogue  between  Duncan  and  Banquo  has  always 
appeared  to  me  a  striking  instance  of  what  in  painting  is  termed  repose.    Their  con- 


ACT  I.  sc.  vL]  MA  CBETH.  63 

Nimbly  and  sweetly  recommends  itself 
Unto  our  gentle  senses. 

Ban,  This  guest  of  summer, 

The  temple-haunting  martlet,  does  approve 
By  his  loved  mansionry  that  the  heavens*  breath  5 

Smells  wooingly  here:  no  jutty,  frieze, 

3.  Unto... senses']    Gentle    unto    our        Han. 

sense  Becket.  5.     the'\  om.  Pope,  +. 

gentle  senses']  general  sense'^vjh,  6-10.     Smells... delicate']  3teev.  ends 

gentle   sense  John's   Conj.  Cap.  gentle  the    lines    buttress^.,.made...they...air.., 

sense*  Allen  MS).  delicate. 

4.  martlet]  Rowe.     Barlet  Ff.  6.     wooingly]    sweet    and    wooingly 

5.  By. ..heavens]    By. ..mansionry...  Han. 

heavens  As  one  line,  Ktly.  j^^Hy^  frieze]  Steev.    jutty  frieu 

mansionry]    Theob.      mansonry         Ff,  Johns,    jutting  frieze  Vo^tt^ -^,0^1^, 
Ff,  Rowe,  Pope  i.      masonry  Pope  ii, 

versation  very  naturally  turns  upon  the  beauty  of  its  situation,  and  the  pleasantness 
of  the  air;  and  Banquo,  observing  the  martlets'  nests  in  every  recess  of  the  cornice, 
remarks,  that,  where  those  birds  most  breed  and  haunt,  the  air  is  delicate.  The 
subject  of  this  quiet  and  easy  conversation  gives  that  repose  so  necessary  to  the  mind 
after  the  tumultuous  bustle  of  the  preceding  scenes,  and  perfectly  contrasts  the 
scene  of  horror  that  immediately  succeeds.  It  seems  as  if  Shakspeare  asked  him- 
self, What  is  a  prince  likely  to  say  to  his  attendants  on  such  an  occasion  ?  Whereas 
the  modem  writers  seem,  on  the  contrary,  to  be  always  searching  for  new  thoughts, 
such  as  would  never  occur  to  men  in  the  situation  which  is  represented.  This  also 
is  frequently  the  practice  of  Homer,  who,  from  the  midst  of  battles  and  horrors, 
relieves  and  refreshes  the  mind  of  the  reader  by  introducing  some  quiet  rural  image, 
or  picture  of  familiar  domestic  life. 

[See  also  to  the  same  effect  Reed's  ^Lectures!  &c.  p.  231.  Ed.] 

3.  senses]  Johnson.  Senses  are  nothing  more  than  each  man's  sense.  Gentle 
sense  means  placid^  calm^  composed^  and  intimates  the  peaceable  delight  of  a  fine  day. 

Abbott,  ?  471.  See  note  on  U,  iv,  14. 

Clarendon.  Our  senses,  which  are  soothed  by  the  brisk,  sweet  air.  The  same 
constniction,  in  which  the  action  of  the  verb  is  expressed  by  applying  an  epithet  to 
the  object,  is  found  in  HI,  iv,  76. 

This]  Lettsqm.  Read  *The.^  *This'  was  repeated  by  mistake  from  the  pre- 
ceding speech. 

4.  martlet]  Steevens.  Rowe's  emendation  is  supported  by  Mer.  of  Ven.  II,  ix,  28. 
Hunter.  It  may  be  further  justified  by  comparison  with  the  following  passage  in 

Brailhwaite's  Survey  of  History y  1638:  *As  the  martin  will  not  build  but  in  fair 
houses,  so  this  man  will  not  live  but  in  the  ruins  of  honour.*  Sh.  was,  we  see, 
choice  in  his  epithet,  and  exact  in  his  natural  history — */^w//(f-haunting.'  This 
passage,  when  looked  at  in  the  original  copies,  shews  of  itself  how  carelessly  the 
original  editors  performed  their  duties,  at  least  in  the  first  act  of  this  tragedy. 

5.  mansionry]  Staunton.  Looking  to  the  context,  *his  pendent  bed  and  pro- 
creant  cradle,*  should  we  not  read,  love-mansionry  ? 

Delius.  Theobald's  emendation  is  not  quite  so  certain  as  Rowe's  *  martlet.' 

6.  jutty]  Malone.  A  jutty,  or  jetty ^  (for  so  it  ought  rather  to  be  written,)  is  not 


64  MACBETH,  [ACT  i.  sc.  vi. 

Buttress,  nor  coign  of  vantage,  but  this  bird 
Hath  made  his  pendent  bed  and  procreant  cradle : 
Where  they  most  breed  and  haunt,  I  have  observed 
The  air  is  delicate. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 
Diin.  See,  see,  our  honoured  hostess !  lo 

8.  made]  made  Allen  (MS).  Coll  ii  (MS.). 

^tf]  this  F^,  Rowe  i.  lo.     Lady  Macbeth.]  Lady.  Ff  (and 

8,9.     cradle :... haunt, 'I'Rovfe,  cradle ,      throughout). 
.,. haunt :  Ff.  See,  see^]  Seel  Han. 

9.  most]  Rowe.      must  F(.  much 

here  an  epithet  to  frietCy  but  a  substantive,  signifying  that  part  of  a  building  which 
shoots  forward  beyond  the  rest.  See  Florio's  Italian  Dictionary,  1 598 :  *£arbacane. 
An  outnooke  or  comer  standing  out  of  a  house;  ^  jettieJ'  *Sporto,  A  porch,  a 
portal,  a  bay-window,  or  out-butting,  or  jettie,  of  a  house,  that  jetties  out  farther  than 
anie  other  part  of  the  house.'  See  also  Surpendue,  in  Cotgrave :  'A  jettie ;  an  out- 
jetting  room.' 

Steevens.  Sh.  uses  the  verb  to  jutty  in  King  Hen.  V :  IH,  i,  13. 

Walker  {^Crit,  ii,  14)  conjectures  that  a  word  is  here  omitted. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  This  line  seems  to  be  mutilated. 

Clarendon,  Probably  some  word  like  *  cornice'  has  dropped  out  after  *  jutty.' 

7.  coign  of  vtmtage]  Johnson.  Convenient  comer. 

Hunter.  It  is  remarkable  that  this  compound  rarely  occurs.  Dr.  Johnson's 
explanation  is  surely  erroneous.  In  the  Porta  Linguarum  Trilinguis,  an  advantage 
is  described  *  a  something  added  to  a  building,  as  a  jutting.'  The  following,  from 
the  Pacata  Hibemia,  contains  something  which  approaches  the  nearest  of  anything 
I  have  found  to  the  word  in  question.  Carew,  the  author,  is  describing  Blarney 
Castle :  *  It  is  four  piles  joined  in  one,  seated  upon  a  main  rock,  so  as  to  be  free  from 
mining,  the  walls  eighteen  feet  thick,  and  flanked  at  each  corner  to  the  best  advan- 
tage.^    Sh.'s  French  reading,  perhaps,  supplied  him  with  it. 

Dyce  (/>w  Notes,  &c.).  Coigne  is  certainly  a  word  of  rare  occurrence:  *And 
Cape  of  Hope,  last  coign  of  Africa.' — Sylvester's  Du  Bnrtas, —  The  Colonies,  p.  129, 
ed.  1641.  (The  original  has  ^  angle  dernier  d'Afrique.') 

Clarendon.  Of  course,  a  corner  convenient  for  building  a  nest.  ^Coign^  from 
the  French  coin,  formerly  spelt  *coing.'     See  Cor.  V,  iv,  i. 

7.  bird]  Keightley  (Expositor,  331).  There  can  be  little  doubt,  I  think,  that 
oh't  was  effaced  at  the  end  of  this  line ;  for  the  poet  could  hardly,  even  in  his  most 
careless  moments,  have  termed  solid  parts  of  a  building  *  pendent  nests,'  &c. 
Wordsworth,  with  this  very  place  in  his  mind,  wrote :  *  On  coigns  of  vantage  hang 
their  nests  of  clay.'  (Misc.  Son.  34.)  It  is  also  in  favour  of  this  reading  that  it 
throws  the  metric  accent  on  this,  thereby  adding  force. 

9.  most]  Collier  (ed.  i).  Sense  might  be  made  out  of  must  o(  the  old  copies, 
supposing  Banquo  to  mean  only  that  the  swallows  mitst  breed  in  their  procreant 
cradles ;  adding,  in  the  words,  '  the  air  is  delicate,*  his  accordance  with  Duncan's 
previous  remark. 


ACT  I,  sc.  vi.]  MA  CBETH.  65 

The  love  that  follows  us  sometime  is  our  trouble, 
Which  still  we  thank  as  love.     Herein  I  teach  you 
How  you  shall  bid  God  'ild  us  for  your  pains, 

II.    sometime  is]  sometime' s  Pope  i,  13.     GodUld"]    Globe,   god-eyld  Ff, 

Walker,    sometimes  Pope  ii.     sometimes  Rowe,  Pope,  Theob.  Knt,  Sta.     Godild 

is  Theob.  Han.  Warb.  Johns.  Han.  god-yeld  Warb.  god-yield  Johns. 

12, 13.    you  How  you]  you: — How?  God  yield  Steev.  Var.  Sing.  Coll.  Huds. 

—  You  Jackson.  White,  Ktly.     God-ild  Cap.     God   ild 

13.     shall]    should   Rowe  ii,  Pope,  Dyce. 
Theob.  Warb.  Johns. 

II.  sometime]  Clarendon.  Sometimes.  The  two  forms  are  used  indifferently 
by  Sh.  In  many  cases  edd.  have  altered  the  original  reading  where  it  contradicted 
the  modem  distinction  between  the  words.     See  IV,  ii,  75. 

13.  God 'ild]  Warburton.  That  is,  God-yield  \%  the  same  as  God  reward. 

Johnson.  I  believe  yield  is  a  contraction  of  shield.  The  wish  implores  not  reward, 
but  protection, 

Steevens.  It  is  found  at  length  in  Ant.  and  Cleop.  IV,  ii,  33.  Again,  in  the  old 
metrical  romance  of  Syr  Guy  of  Warwick,  bl.  1.  no  date :  *  Syr,  quoth  Guy,  Goa 
yield  it  you* 

Nares.  Or  God  dild  you.  Corrupt  forms  of  speech  for  *  God  yield,  or  give,  you 
some  advantage.* 

Hunter.  A  passage  in  Palsgrave's  French  and  Eng,  Diet,  at  once  determines 
the  point :  *  We  use  "  God  yelde  you  "  by  manner  of  thanking  a  person.'  p.  441,  b. 

Clarendon.  Compare  As  You  Like  It,  V,  Iv,  56.  The  phrase  occurs  repeatedly 
as  *God  dild  you'  in  Sir  John  Oldcastle,  1600,  one  of  the  spurious  plays  in  F  . 

I1-14.  Steevens.  The  passage  is  undoubtedly  obscure,  and  the  following  is  the 
best  explication  of  it  I  can  offer :  Marks  of  respect,  importunately  shown,  are  some- 
times troublesome,  though  we  are  still  bound  to  be  grateful  for  them,  as  indications 
of  sincere  attachment.  If  you  pray  for  us  on  account  of  the  trouble  we  create  in 
your  house,  and  thank  us  for  the  molestations  we  bring  with  us,  it  must  be  on  such 
a  principle.  Herein  I  teach  you  that  the  inconvenience  you  suffer  is  the  resUlt  of 
our  affection ;  and  that  you  are  therefore  to  pray  for  us,  or  thank  us,  only  as  far  as 
prayers  and  thanks  can  be  deserved  for  kindnesses  that  fatigue,  and  honours  that 
oppress.  You  are,  in  short,  to  make  your  acknowledgments  for  intended  respect 
and  love,  however  irksome  our  present  mode  of  expressing  them  may  have  proved. — 
To  bid  is  here  used  in  the  Saxon  sense — ^to  pray. 

Knight.  The  love  which  follows  us  is  sometimes  troublesome;  so  we  give  you 
trouble,  but  look  you  only  at  the  love  we  bear  to  you,  and  so  bless  us  and  thank  us. 

Collier.  Duncan  says  that  even  love  sometimes  occasions  him  trouble,  but  that 
he  thanks  it  as  love  notwithstanding;  and  that  thus  he  teaches  Lady  M.,  while  she 
takes  trouble  on  his  account,  to  *  bid  God  yield,'  or  reward,  him  for  giving  that 
trouble. 

Hunter.  The  affection  which  urges  us  to  desire  the  society  of  our  friends  is 
sometimes  the  occasion  of  trouble  to  them ;  but  still  we  feel  grateful  for  the  affection 
which  is  manifested.  So  you  are  to  regard  this  visit ;  and  with  this  view  of  it  you 
will  be  disposed  to  thank  us  for  the  trouble  which  we  occasion  you. 

Elwin.  The  love  of  others  is  sometimes  troublesome  to  us ;  but,  because  of  the 
kind  intention  it  contains,  we  receive  it  with  the  thanks  due  to  love :  in  saying 
6*  E 


66  MACBETH.  [ACT  i.  sc.  vi 

And  thank  us  for  your  trouble. 

Lady  M.  All  our  service, 

In  every  point  twice  done,  and  then  done  double,  15 

Were  poor  and  single  business,  to  contend 
Against  those  honours  deep  and  broad,  wherewith 
Your  majesty  loads  our  house :  for  those  of  old, 
And  the  late  dignities  heap*d  up  to  them, 
We  rest  your  hermits. 

Dim,  Where's  the  thane  of  Cawdor?  20 

We  coursed  him  at  the  heels,  and  had  a  purpose 
To  be  his  purveyor:  but  he  rides  well. 
And  his  great  love,  sharp  as  his  spur,  hath  holp  him 
To  his  home  before  us.     Fair  and  noble  hostess, 
We  are  your  guest  to-night. 

iMdy  M.  Your  servants  ever  25 

17-20.       Against.. ...hermiis]    Pope.  20.  hermits']  Ermites  F^.     Htrmites 

Four  lines   ending    broad^.. .. house :.,,,        F,. 

digftities,.,.. Hermits.     Ff,  Rowe.  23.  as]  at  F^. 

24.     To  his]  71^'jPope, +. 

which  I  teach  you  how  you  should  ask  God's  blessing  upon  me  for  giving  trouble  to 
you.  It  is  an  elegantly  punctilious  mode  of  saying  that  regard  for  Macbeth  and  his 
wife  is  the  cause  of  his  visit. 

Hudson.  If  this  passage  be  obscure,  we  should  like  to  know  what  isn't.  Is  any- 
thing more  common  than  to  thank  people  for  annoying  us,  as  knowing  that  they  do 
it  from  love  ?  And  does  not  Duncan  clearly  mean  that  his  love  is  what  puts  him 
upon  troubling  them  thus,  and  therefore  they  will  be  grateful  to  him  for  the  pains  he 
causes  them  to  take  ? 

16.  single]  White.  That  is,  small  business.  So  in  2  Hen.  IV :  I,  ii,  207,  and 
Temp.  I,  ii,  432,  and  I,  iii,  140  of  this  play.  There  is  a  whimsical  likeness  and 
logical  connection  between  this  phrase  and  one  which  has  lately  come  into  vulgar 
vogue,  *  a  one-horse  affair,'  *  a  one-horse  town,'  &c. 

16.  contend]  Clarendon.  To  vie  with,  to  rival,  as  gratitude  should  rival  favours 
conferred. 

17.  deep  and  broad]  For  Transposition  of  Adjectives,  see  Abbott,  §  419. 

18.  to]  Abbott,  J  185.     Sec  note  on  III,  i,  51. 

20.  hermits]  Steevens.  We  as  hermits  or  beadsmen  shall  always  pray  for  you. 
Thus  in  Arden  of  Fevcrsham,  1592,  *  I  am  your  beadsman^  l)ound  to  pray  for  you.' 

22  purveyor]  Clarendon.  Cotgrave  gives  *  Pourvoycur :  m.  A  prouidor,  a 
purueyor.'  He  was  sent  before  to  provide  food  for  the  King  and  suite  as  the  har- 
binger provided  lodging.  See  Cowel,  Law  Interpreter,  s.  vv.  *  Pourveyor'  and  *  Har- 
binger.*    The  accent  is  here  on  the  first  syllable. 

[For  list  of  words  in  which  the  accent  was  nearer  the  beginning  than  with  us,  see 
Abbott,  492.  Ed.] 

23.  holp]  Clarendon.  Wc  have  this  form  in  Rich.  II :  V,  v,  62. 


ACT  I,  SC.  vii.] 


MACBETH. 


67 


Have  theirs,  themselves,  and  what  is  theirs,  in  compt, 
To  make  their  audit  at  your  highness'  pleasure, 
Still  to  return  your  own. 

Dun,  Give  me  your  hand ; 

Conduct  me  to  mine  host ;  we  love  him  highly, 
And  shall  continue  our  graces  towards  him.  30 

By  your  leave,  hostess.  [Exeunt, 


Scene  VII.     Macbeth' s  castle. 

Hautboys  and  torches.      Enter  a  Sewer,  and  divers  Servants  with  dishes  and 
service^  and  pass  over  the  stage.     Then  enter  Macbeth. 

Macb,     If  it  were  done  when  'tis  done,  then  'twere  well 
It  were  done  quickly :  if  the  assassination 


26.  theirSy  in  compt^  Han.  theirs^ 
in  compt  Pope  i.  theirs  in  compt ^  Ff, 
Theob.  Warb.  Johns,  theirs  in  compt 
Pope  ii.     theirs,  in  compt;  Cap. 

29.  host;  we\  Cap.  host,  we  F  F , 
Rowe,  + .     host  we  F,F,. 

31.  [kisses  her.  Nicholson  conj.* 

Scene  vii.]  Scene  ix.  Pope.  Scene 
VIII.  Johns. 

Macbeth's  castle.]  An  Apart- 
ment. Rowe.  An  Apartment  in  Mac- 
bcth's  Castle.  Theob.  A  lobby  in  the 
castle.  Dyce. 


Hautboys  and  torches.]  Ho-boyes. 
Torches.  F,F^.  Ho  boyes.  Torches. 
F  .     Hoboys.  Torches.  F^. 

a  Sewer,  and]  om.  Rowe,  + . 
and  pass  over...]    over...Ff,   Rowe,-f. 

I.  done... done,']  Huds.  done,...done, 
Ff,  Cap.  Steev.  Knt,  Coll.  done,..., 
done  ;  Pope,  + . 

I,  2.  ivelt  It.... quickly :  if]  Rowe 
ii.  well.  It... quickly :  i/ Ff.  7vell.  It 
...quickly.  If  Anon,  apud  Johns,  conj. 
well.  It. ..quickly  if  G.  Blink  (N.  and 
Qu.,  25  May,  1850),  ^Y^lite. 


26.  in  compt]  Steevens.  That  is  subject  to  account.  So,  Timon  \\,  i,  35.  The 
sense  is :  We,  and  all  who  belong  to  us,  look  upon  our  lives  and  fortunes  not  as 
our  own  properties,  but  as  things  we  have  received  merely  for  your  use,  and  for 
which  we  must  be  accountable,  whenever  you  please  to  call  us  to  our  audit ;  when 
we  shall  be  ready  to  answer  your  summons,  by  returning  you  what  is  your  own. 

30.  Clarendon.  To  scan  this  line  we  must  pronounce  *  our '  as  a  dissyllable,  and 
*  towards '  as  a  monosyllable.     Instances  of  each  are  common. 

Abbott  (J  492).  *  And  shall  |  contin  |  ue  our  gri  |  ces  td  |  wards  him.* 

31.  Clarendon.  Here  Duncan  gives  his  hand  to  Lady  Macbeth,  and  leads  her 
into  the  castle. 

Coleridge  (i,  247).  The  lyrical  movement  with  which  this  scene  opens,  and  the 
free  and  unengaged  mind  of  Banquo,  loving  nature,  and  rewarded  in  the  love  itself 
form  a  highly  dramatic  contrast  with  the  labored  rhythm  and  hypocritical  over-much 
of  Lady  Macbeth's  welcome,  in  which  you  cannot  detect  a  ray  of  personal  feeling, 
but  all  is  thrown  upon  the  *  dignities,'  the  general  duty. 

Stage  direction,  Sewer]  Steevens.  An  officer,  so  called  from  his  placing  the 
dishes  on  the  table.  Asseour,  French;  from  asseoir,  \.o place.  In  Chapman's  Iliad, 
lib.  xxiv :  *  Automedon  as  fit  was  for  the  reverend  seiver's  place;  and  all  the  browne 
joints  serv'd  On  wicker  vessel,'  &c.     Another  part  of  the  sewer's  office  was  to  bring 


68  MA  CBETH,  [act  i,  sc.  vu. 

Could  trammel  up  the  consequence,  and  catch, 
With  his  surcease,  success ;  that  but  this  blow 

4.     hi5\  its  Pope,  +,  H.  Rowe.  Johns,  conj.  H.  Rowe,  Ktly. 

surcease t  success'\  success y  surcease 

water  for  the  guests  to  wash  their  hands  with ;  his  chief  mark  of  distinction  was  a 

towel  round  his  arm.      In  Ben  Jonson*s  Silent  Woman:    * clap  me  a  clean 

towel  about  you,  like  a  siwer. 

Clarendon.  From  the  French  essayeur^  and  meant  originally  one  who  tasted  of 
each  dish  to  prove  that  there  was  no  poison  in  it.  Afterwards  it  was  applied  to  the 
chief  servant,  who  directed  the  placing  of  the  dishes  on  the  table.  In  Palsgrave, 
Eclaircissement  de  la  Langue  Frangaise,  we  have  the  verb  thus :  *  I  sewe  at  meate.  Je 
taste.*  So  again  in  Holinshed,  ii,  p.  1 129,  col.  2,  *  the  Esquier  that  was  accustomed 
to  sew  and  take  the  assay  before  Kyng  Richarde.'  What  is  included  in  the  word 
*  service  *  may  be  illustrated  by  the  following  stage  direction  from  Heywood's  A 
Woman  Killed  with  Kindness :  *  Enter  Butler  and  Jenkin  with  a  table-cloth,  bread, 
trenchers,  and  salt.' 

Delius.  After  the  sewer  and  his  attendants  have  passed  over  the  stage,  a  long 
pause  is  to  be  assumed  before  the  entrance  of  Macbeth,  during  which  the  feast  in 
honor  of  Duncan  begins  and  continues. 

I,  2.  White.  The  punctuation  of  the  Folios,  in  which  the  colon  [after  'quickly*] 
takes  the  place  (as  it  so  often  does)  of  a  comma,  or  rather  indicates  a  sectional  pause 
in  the  rhythm,  has  been  preserved,  with  the  exception  of  the  superfluous  comma  at 
the  end  of  the  first  line,  in  every  ed.  of  the  play  that  I  have  examined.  The  conse- 
quence has  been  an  almost  universal  misapprehension  of  the  significance  of  these 
lines,  even  among  actors,  by  whom  they  are  generally  read  as  if  they  meant,  *  If  the 
murder  is  to  be  done,  when  I  do  it  I  had  better  do  it  quickly.'  But  this  thought  is 
not  only  very  tame,  and  therefore  entirely  unsuited  to  the  situation,  and  inexpressive 
of  the  speaker's  mental  state,  but  entirely  incongruous  with  the  succeeding  passage  of 
the  soliloquy,  which  is  the  expansion  of  a  single  thought  and  a  single  feeling  twin- 
bom — consciousness  of  guilt  and  dread  of  punishment  in  a  sensitive,  imaginative 
nature,  devoid  of  moral  firmness.  Macbeth's  first  thought  is,  that  when  the  murder 
IS  done,  the  end  is  not  yet,  either  here  or  hereafter;  and  this  thought  possesses  him 
entirely,  until  he  sees  the  poisoned  chalice  commended  to  his  own  lips.  So  Sh. 
using,  as  his  custom  was,  one  word,  *  done,'  in  two  senses,  makes  the  prospective 
murderer  of  his  guest,  his  kinsman  and  his  king  say, — and  with  emphasis, — *  If  it 
were  done  [ended]  when  'tis  done,  [performed,]  then  it  would  well.  It  were  done 
[ended]  quickly  if  the  assassination  could  clear  itself  from  all  consequences,'  and 
so  on,  to  show  that  'tis  not  done  when  'tis  done,  and  therefore  it  is  not  well.  Only 
with  this  punctuation,  and  with  this  signification,  can  the  first  part  of  this  soliloquy 
have  a  becoming  dignity,  and  its  parts  a  due  connection.  Yet,  strange  to  say,  in  all 
that  has  been  written  about  it,  with  a  single  exception,  there  is,  as  far  as  my  know- 
ledge extends,  no  hint  of  this  perception  of  the  true  meaning  of  the  passage.  This 
single  exception  is  in  a  masterly  analysis  of  the  soliloquy  in  the  Boston  Courier  in 
1857.     [See  Appendix,  p.  441.     Ed.] 

Knight  (ed.  2)  attributes  to  Mr  Macready  the  punctuation  adopted  by  White. 

3.  trammel]  Nares.  The  mode  of  tramelling  a  horse,  to  teach  him  to  amble,  is 
described  in  G.  Markham's  Way  to  Wealthy  p.  48 :  having  strong  pieces  of  girth, 
you  are  to  fasten  them,  *  one  to  his  neer  fore-lej  and  his  neer  hind-leg,  the  other  to 


ACT  I,  sc.  vii.]  MACBETH.  69 

Might  be  the  be-all  and  the  end-all  here,  5 

* 

5.     be,..end'all\be  theallyandbethe  Heere,   Ff   {Here,    F3FJ.      End-all^ 

end  of  <2//— Rowe  ii.  Here,    Pope,  Theob.     £nd-a//-^HQTt, 

be-all... end-all]  Hyphens,  Pope.  Warb.  Johns,    end-all;  here,  Ktly. 
end-all   here]    Han.      end   all, 

his  faire  fore-leg  and  his  farre  hind-leg,  which  is  called  among  horsemen  trammel' 
lingy  &c.  It  is  also  the  name  for  a  peculiar  kind  of  net.  See  Spenser,  F.  Q. 
II,  ii,  15.  Also,  *Nay,  Cupid,  pitch  thy  trammel  where  thou  please' — Quarles's 
Emblems, 

Clarendon.  Cotgrave  gives  *  Tramail :  m.  A  Trammell,  or  net  for  Partridges,* 
and  again,  *  Traineller :  To  trammel  for  Larkes.'  The  idea  is  followed  up  by  the 
word  *  catch.* 

4.  bis  surcease,  success]  Johnson.  If  the  murder  could  terminate  in  itself, 
and  restrain  the  regular  course  of  consequences,  if  its  success  could  secure  its  sur- 
cease,  if,  being  once  done  successfully,  without  detection,  it  could  ^jr  a  period  io  all 
vengeance  and  inquiry,  so  that  this  blow  might  be  all  that  I  have  to  do,  and  this 
anxiety  all  that  I  have  to  suffer;  if  this  could  be  my  condition,  even  here  in  this 
world,  in  this  contracted  period  of  temporal  existence,  on  this  narrow  bank  in  the 
ocean  of  eternity,  /  would  Jump  the  life  to  come,  I  would  venture  upon  the  deed 
without  care  of  any  future  state.  But  this  is  one  of  those  cases  in  which  judgement 
is  pronounced  and  vengeance  inflicted  upon  us  here  in  our  present  life.  We  teach 
others  to  do  as  we  have  done,  and  are  punished  by  our  own  example. 

Steevens.  His  is  used  instead  of  its  in  many  places. 

Jennens.  *  His '  refers  to  Duncan,  and  the  meaning  is :  If  the  assassination  of 
Duncan  would  secure  me  the  consequence  I  aim  at,  and  procure  me  with  his  sur* 
cease,  or  death,  success  to  my  ambitious  designs,  &c.  &c. 

Hunter.  That  *  surcease '  may  be  equivalent  to  cessation  is  evident  from  Rom.  & 
Jul.,  IV,  i,  97. 

Elwin.  His  relates  to  consequence.  The  literal  meaning  of  the  passage  b,  If  the 
assassination  could  net  up  its  own  consequence,  and  catch  ivith  his  (the  consequence's) 
stop,  success,  &c. 

Collier.  To  *  surcease '  is  to  finish  or  conclude,  and  the  meaning,  of  course,  is, 
*  and  catch  success  with  its  conclusion.* 

Hudson.  In  Bacon's  Of  Church  Controversies :  *  It  is  more  than  time  that  there 
were  an  end  and  surcease  made  of  this  immodest  and  deformed  manner  of  writing,' 
&c.     His  for  its,  referring  to  assassination. 

Staunton.  The  obscurity  which  critics  lament  in  this  passage  is  due  to  them- 
selves.  If,  instead  of  taking  *  success '  in  its  modem  sense  of  prosperity,  they  had 
understood  it  according  to  its  usual  acceptation  in  Sh.'s  day  as  sequel,  what  follows, 
&c.,  they  must  have  perceived  at  once  that  to  ^  catch,  with  his  surcease,  success,*  is 
no  more  than  an  enforcement  of  *  trammel  up  the  consequence.'  The  meaning  ob- 
viously being :  If  the  assassination  were  an  absolutely  final  act,  and  could  shut  up 
all  consecution, — *  be  the  be-all  and  end-all  *  even  of  this  life  only, — we  would  run 
the  hazard  of  a  future  state. 

Clarendon.  The  etymological  connection  of  this  word  with  'cease*  is  apparent 
only,  not  real.  *  Cease '  is  derived  from  cesser,  but  *  surcease '  from  sursis,  and  that 
from  surseoir,  *  Surcease  *  is  a  legal  term,  meaning  the  arrest  or  stoppage  of  a  suit, 
or  superseding  a  jurisdiction.     As  a  substantive  it  is  found  here  only  in  Sh.     He 


70  MACBETH.  [act  i,  sc.  yu. 

But  here,  upon  this  bank  and  shoal  of  time, 

6.  But  here,  upon]  Here  only  on  school  F^F^,  Pope,  Jenn.  Elwin.  shelve 
Pope,  Han.  Warb. 

shoaf]    Theob.       schoole    F^F^.  time^  time — Rowe. 

twice  uses  the  verb  *  surcease,*  both  times  in  the  sense  of  *  cease.*  We  are  inclined 
to  agree  with  Elwin  that  *  his '  refers  to  *  consequence  :*  *  If  the  murder  could  pre- 
vent its  consequence,  and  by  the  arrest  of  that  consequence  secure  success.* 

6.  shoal]  Theobald.  This  Shallow,  this  narrow  Ford  of  humane  Life,  opposed 
to  the  great  Abyss  of  Eternity. 

Heath.  *  School  *  gives  us  a  much  finer  sentiment  and  more  pertinent  to  the  pur- 
pose of  the  speaker.  This  present  life  is  called  a  school,  both  because  it  is  our  state 
of  instruction  and  probation,  and,  also,  because  our  own  behavior  in  it  instructs 
others  how  to  behave  toward  us,  as  is  more  fully  expressed  two  lines  lower.  *  Bank  * 
means  the  same  in  this  place  as  bench, 

Capell  {Notes  ii.  9)  refers  to  a  thought  somewhat  resembling  this  in  Tit.  And., 
Ill,  i,  93. 

Tieck  (apud  Knight).  *  Bank'  is  here  the  school-bench ;  'time*  is  used  as  it  fre- 
quently is  for  the  present  time.  Shoal  does  not  fit  the  context,  and  smothers  the 
idea  of  the  author.  Macbeth  says.  If  we  could  believe  that  after  perpetrated  wicked- 
ness we  could  enjoy  peace  in  the  present — (here  occurs  to  him  the  image  of  a  school, 
where  a  scholar  anticipates  a  complaint  or  an  injury) — if  the  present  only  were 
secure,  I  would  care  nothing  for  the  future — what  might  happen  to  me — if  this  school 

were  removed But  we  receive  the  judgment  in  this  school  where  we  *  but 

teach  bloody  instructions,'  &c.  &c. 

Hunter.  Johnson  leaves  it  a  little  doubtful  whether  he  justly  apprehended  the 
force  of  the  *  But  here,*  where  *  but  *  is  certainly  used  in  the  sense  of  *  only,*  and 
perhaps  the  better  punctuation  would  be  to  place  a  semicolon  after  *  time.*  If  the 
blow  ended  the  matter  for  this  world,  we  would  care  nothing  for  the  world  to  come. 
*  Time  *  should  be  printed  with  a  capital  letter.  The  *  bank  and  shoal  of  Time  *  is 
a  favorite  image,  almost  trite ;  the  isthmus  between  two  eternities. 

Elwin.  Bank  is  used  for  bench,  and  time  for  mortal  life ;  which,  qualified  as  a 
bench  and  school  of  instruction,  is  placed  in  antithesis  to  the  life  to  come.  Here  the 
idea  of  calling  this  life  the  school  of  eternity,  as  preparing  man  for  the  part  he  is  to 
perform  there,  is  not  only  thoroughly  in  accordance  with  the  truthful  genius  of  Sh., 
but  it  is  beautifully  sustained  in  the  expressions  that  follow  it,  *  that  we  but  teach 
bloody  instructions.'  The  feeling  expressed  is  this :  If  here  only,  upon  this  bench 
of  instruction,  in  this  school  of  eternity,  I  could  do  this  without  bringing  these,  my 
pupil  days,  under  suffering,  I  would  hazard  its  effect  on  the  endless  life  to  come. 

Clarendon.  The  same  word,  differently  spelt,  as  the  Folio  reading.  Human  life 
is  compared  to  a  narrow  strip  of  land  in  an  ocean. 

Nichols  (p.  25).  *  But  here*  means  here  in  this  world;  and*  upon  this  bank,' 
upon  this  earth.  Sh.  in  speaking  of  it  as  the  *  bank  of  time '  alluded,  no  doubt,  to 
the  numberless  years  that  time  had  taken  in  its  formation,  a  geological  fact.  He 
calls  it  also,  and  very  appropriately,  the  *  schoole '  of  time,  for  it  is  upon  it  that 
Time  teaches  his  lessons  to  man.  It  was  these  lessons  that  Macl)eth  feared.  Sh., 
speaking  elsewhere  of  time,  says :  *  Time,  thou  tutor  of  the  good  and  bad.'  Now, 
if  he  considered  him  a  tutor,  is  there  anything  unreasonable  in  his  finding  him  a 
school  to  teach  in  ? 


ACT  I,  sc.  vii.]  MA  CBETH.  7  ^ 

We'd  jump  the  life  to  come.     But  in  these  cases 

We  still  have  judgement  here;  that  we  but  teach 

Bloody  instructions,  which  being  taught  return 

To  plague  the  inventor:  this  even-handed  justice  10 

Commends  the  ingredients  of  our  poison'd  chalice 

To  our  own  lips.     He's  here  in  double  trust : 

First,  as  I  am  his  kinsman  and  his  subject, 

Strong  both  against  the  deed ;  then,  as  his  host. 

Who  should  against  his  murderer  shut  the  door,  15 

Not  bear  the  knife  myself     Besides,  this  Duncan 

Hath  borne  his  faculties  so  meek,  hath  been 

10,  II.    the    inventor..... Commends]  ingredients]    Pope,     ingredience 

F,.     Om.  F^FgF^,  Rowe.  Ff,  Cap. 

10.  this]    om.    Poi>e,+    ( — ^Johns.)  16.     hear]  bare  Daniel. 
thus.  Mason,  Coll.  ii  (MS).  17.     his]  this  F.FjF^. 

11.  Commends]     Returns     Pope,+  faculties]  faculty  YJ^^^Voi^* 
(—Johns.) 

« 

7.  jump]  Steevens.  So  in  Cymb.,  V,  iv,  188.  ' 

M ALONE.  We'd  hazard  or  run  the  risk  of  what  might  happen  in  a  future  state  of 
being. 

Keightley.  *  The  life  to  come  *  is  not  the  future  state,  but  the  remaining  years 
of  his  own  life,  as  is  manifest  from  what  follows.  In  I,  v,  67  we  have  had  *  our 
nights  and  days  to  come.'  Also  in  Tr.  and  Cr.,  Ill,  ii,  180.  And  'Thus  all  his 
life  to  come  is  loss  and  shame.' — Cowley,  Davideis,  II,  616. 

8.  here]  Hunter.  As  the  thoughts  proceed  this  has  reference  to  the  preceding 
*  here,'  meaning  in  this  present  world,  while  we  are  on  this  isthmus  of  Time.  In 
this  world  we  have  judgement  executed  upon  us.  We  teach  others  to  do  as  we  have 
done.     The  full  form  would  require  *  so '  before  *  that.'     [See  Abbott  I,  ii,  60.] 

Riddle  (p.  40)  cites  as  parallel  Aristotle,  Rhet.,  I,  12,  26. 

10.  inventor]  Malone.  So  in  Bellenden's  translation  of  Hector  Boethius :  « He 
[Macbeth]  was  led  be  wod  furyis,  as  ye  nature  of  all  tyrannis  is,  quhilks  conquessis 
landis  or  kingdomes  be  wrangus  titil,  ay  full  of  hevy  thocht  and  dredour,  and  traist- 
ing  ilk  man  to  do  siclik  crueltes  to  hym,  as  he  did  afore  to  othir^ 

10.  this]  Dyce  (ed.  i.  Note  on  Hen.  VIII:  I,  ii,  64).  'This*  and  'these'  in 
our  old  writers  are  sometimes  little  else  than  redundant. 

11.  commends]  Steevens.  Offers  or  recommends.  See  111,1,38  and  All's 
Well,  V,  i,  31.     [See  Appendix,  p.  365.     Ed.] 

11.  ingredients]  Clarendon.  It  is  not  unlikely  that  Sh.  wrote  the  word  as  it 
appears  in  the  Ff.,  using  it  in  the  sense  of  *  compound,'  *  mixture.' 

12.  lips]  Knight  (ed.  2).  The  entire  passage  from  the  beginning  of  the  speech 
to  this  point  is  obscure. 

16.  Besides]  Anon.  Henderson,  in  his  delivery,  pointed  it  thus :  'Besides  this, 
Duncan.' 

17.  faculties]  Clarendon.  Powers,  prerogatives  of  office.  The  Greek  equiva- 
lent is  yipara.  The  word  is  still  used  in  the  old  sense  in  Ecclesiastical  Law.  See 
Hen.  VIII :  I,  ii,  73. 


72  MA  CBE  TH.  [act  i.  sc.  viL 

• 
So  clear  in  his  great  office,  that  his  virtues 

Will  plead  like  angels  trumpet-tongued  against 

The  deep  damnation  of  his  taking-off ;  20 

And  pity,  like  a  naked  new-born  babe, 

Striding  the  blast,  or  heaven's  cherubin  horsed 

Upon  the  sightless  couriers  of  the  air, 

22.  ckerubin]  cherubim  Jenn.  Knt,  23.  c<mriers\  Pope.  Curriors  FL 
Del.  Glo.  Cla.                                                 curriers  Rowe.     coursers  Warb.  Theob. 

23.  sightiess"]  silent  Theob.  ii.  Han. 

18.  clear]  Clarendon.  Guiltless.    See  Merry  Wives,  III,  iii,  123. 

20.  taking-off]  Delius.  So  in  Lear,  V,  i,  65. 
Clarendon.  So  in  III,  i,  104* 

21.  babe]  Vischer  (vol.  iii,  part  i,  p.  127).  We  must  be  very  guarded  in  con- 
demning as  offences  against  taste  those  bold  flashes  in  passages  where  pathos  speaks 
its  loftier  language,  and  where  Sh.  for  the  highest  poetic  purpose  offends  the  prosaic 
ideas  of  order  and  measure,  as  e.  g,  in  the  frightfully  grand  words  of  Macbeth  [in 
the  present  passage].  Thus,  too,  the  words  of  Goethe  in  the  noble  Song  of  Mignon, 
*  My  bowels  burn,'  are  no  offence  against  taste,  but  are  high  above  all  barren  taste 
with  its  ideas  of  propriety. 

(Vol.  iii,  part  ii,  p.  1237.)  In  this  fearful  vision  all  the  consequences  of  Duncan's 
murder  are  grouped  together ;  what  the  drama  has  hitherto  portrayed  in  chiaroscuro 
is  here  unfolded  in  clearer  treatment :  it  is  not  in  the  mouth  of  every  character  that 
the  poet  would  dare  to  put  such  wild,  extravagant,  phantasmagoric  images ;  they  are 
reserved  for  the  hero,  with  his  nervous  temperament,  at  a  moment  of  the  highest 
tension,  when  at  a  glance  he  scans  a  horrible  future.  All  of  Sh.'s  images  have 
something  peculiarly  sudden  and  emotional ;  they  remind  us  of  flickering  crimson 
torchlight  illuminating  a  cavern  of  stalactites,  while  on  the  other  hand  the  metaphors 
of  the  Greeks  and  of  Goethe  rise  calmly  like  the  sun,  and  disclose  feature  after 
feature  of  the  landscape  in  sharp,  clear  outline.  This  is  epic ;  the  Greek  tragedians 
have  undoubtedly  something  of  Sh.'s  impassioned,  unearthly  glow,  but  cooled  in 
a  plastic  mould  of  feeling. 

22.  cherubin]  Malone.  The  thought  seems  to  have  been  borrowed  from  Psalms, 
xviii,  10.     Again  in  Job,  xxx,  22. 

Clarendon.  Sh.  uses  this  in  several  other  places,  but  always  in  the  singular,  as 
e.g.  Oth.,  IV,  ii.  63.  But  in  this  passage  the  plural  b  unquestionably  required  by 
the  sense.  To  read  *  cherubins,'  which  is  the  form  always  found  in  Coverdale's 
Bible,  or  *  cherubims,*  that  of  the  Authorized  Version,  would  make  the  verse,  already 
too  full  of  sibilants,  almost  intolerable  to  the  ear.  The  only  objection  to  *  cherubim ' 
is  that  Sh.  was  not  likely  to  know  that  this  was  the  proper  Hebrew  plural.  For  the 
same  idea,  see  Rom.  &  Jul.,  II,  ii,  28-31. 

23.  couriers]  Johnson.  Runners.  Couriers  of  air  are  winds,  air  in  motion. 
Sightless  is  invisible. 

Steevens.  For  'sightless*  in  this  sense,  see  I,  v,  47.  So  in  Warner's  Albion's 
England,  1602,  b.  ii,  c.  xi:  'The  scouring  winds  that  sightless  in  the  sounding  air 
do  fly.' 

Seymour.  The  *  sightless  couriers  of  the  air '  are  not  winds,  as  Dr  Johnson  sup- 


ACT  I,  sc.  vii.]  MACBETH.  73 

Shall  blow  the  horrid  deed  in  every  eye, 

That  tears  shall  drown  the  wind.     I  have  no  spur  25 

To  prick  the  sides  of  my  intent,  but  only 

Vaulting  ambition,  which  o'erleaps  itself 

And  falls  on  the  other. 

24.  eye\  ear  Daniel.  H.  Rowe,  Ktly.    the  rider.  Mason,    the- 
28.     the  other, '\  Steev.    M'  other,  Ff.        ory.  Jackson,     the  other  bank.  Anon.* 

th^  other — Rowe,  +  .  th'  other  side,  HdJi,  SCENE  X.    Pope,  +  . 

poses,  but  invisible  posters  of  the  divine  will  that  fly  unperceived  by  sense,  and 
unconnected  with  matter.     If  winds  were  meant  as  the  supporters  of  the  babe,  the 
Infant  would  be  left  in  a  very  perilous  predicament,  for  he  must  soon  be  unhorsed 
by  the  drowning  of  the  wind, 
Abbott,  See  note  in  I,  iv,  11. 

25.  drown]  Johnson.  Alluding  to  the  remission  of  the  wind  in  a  shower. 
Elwin.  And  also  to  an  object  blown  into  the  eye,  causing  it  to  All  with  tears. 

C.  LoFFT.  I  suspect  the  death  of  Sir  Thomas  Overbury  and  the  consequent  events 
were  here  much  in  the  poet's  thoughts. 

Delius.  This  image  of  a  shower  of  tears,  in  which  the  storm  of  passion  expends 
itself,  is  very  common  in  Sh. 

spur]  Steevens.  Lord  Bacon  uses  '  the  spur  of  the  occasion.' 

Malone.  So  in  Oesar  and  Pompey,  1607,  <  'Tis  ambition's  spur  that  pricketh 
Caesar,*  &c. 

28.  other]  Steevens.  They  who  would  plead  for  this  supplement  [of  side  by 
Hanmer]  should  consider  that  the  plural  of  it,  but  two  lines  before,  had  occurred. 
The  general  image,  though  confusedly  expressed,  relates  to  a  horse,  who,  overleap- 
ing himself,  falls,  and  his  rider  under  him.  To  complete  the  line  we  may  therefore 
read,  *  Falls  upon  the  other.' 

Malone.  There  are  two  distinct  metaphors.  I  have  no  spur  to  prick  the  sides 
of  my  intent ;  I  have  nothing  to  stimulate  me  to  the  execution  of  my  purpose  but 
ambition,  which  is  apt  to  overreach  itself;  this  he  expresses  by  the  second  image,  of 
a  person  meaning  to  vault  into  his  saddle,  who,  by  taking  too  great  a  leap,  will  fall 
on  the  other  side. 

Knight.  We  can  scarcely  admit  the  necessity  for  a  change  of  the  original.  A 
person  (and  *  vaulting  ambition '  is  personified)  might  be  said  to  overleap  himself,  as 
well  as  overbalance  himself,  or  overcharge  himself,  or  overlabor  himself,  or  over- 
measure  himself,  or  overreach  himself.     There  is  a  parallel  use  of  the  word  over  in 

Beaumont  &  Fletcher :  * it  may  be  your  sense  was  set  too  high,  and  so  over- 

wrought  itself*  The  word  over  in  all  these  cases  is  used  in  the  sense  of  too  much, 
Macbeth  compares  his  intent  to  a  courser ;  I  have  no  spur  to  urge  him  on.  Unpre- 
pared I  am  about  to  vault  into  my  seat,  but  I  overleap  myself  and  fall.  It  appears 
to  us  that  the  sentence  is  broken  by  the  entrance  of  the  messenger;  that  it  is  not 
complete  in  itself,  and  would  not  have  been  completed  with  side. 

Hunter.  The  word  ofi  seems  lost  before  *  o'erleaps,'  and  the  word  side  is  wanting 
to  make  the  sense  complete. 

Walker  {Crit,  iil,  253).  Evidently  th'  other  side;  and  this  adds  one  to  the  appa- 
rently numerous  instances  of  omission  in  this  play. 

7 


74  MACBETH.  [ACT  I.  sc.  vii. 

Enter  \.KDn  Macbeth. 

How  now !  what  news  ?  28 

Enter...]  After  line  27,  F^,  Rowe,  Cap.    After  28,  Steev.  Var.  Sing.  Knt. 

Elwin.  The  intent  in  this  metaphor  is  the  horse;  Macbeth  personates  ambition 
(because,  with  reference  to  the  deed  in  question,  he  has  cast  from  him  all  other 
motives  of  action],  and  is  himself  both  rider  and  spur  (for  these  are  united  in  one, 
because  he  is  describing  them  in  but  one  and  the  same  quality  of  urger  of  the  steed)  ; 
and,  acting  in  this  character,  he  foresees  that  he  must  overleap  what  he  jumps  for, 
and  fall  on  the  other  side  of  it. 

Hudson.  Side  may  have  been  meant  by  the  poet,  but  it  was  not  said.  And  the 
sense  feels  better  without  it,  as  this  shows  the  speaker  to  be  in  such  an  eagerly- 
exp>ectant  state  of  mind  as  to  break  off  the  instant  he  had  a  prospect  of  any  news. 
The  use  of  self  for  aim  or  purpose  is  quite  lawful  and  idiomatic ;  as  we  often  say, 
such  a  one  overshot  himself  that  is,  overshot  his  mark,  his  aim. 

S.  Singleton  {N,  6*  Qu.,  vii,  404, 1853).  Should  it  not  \}t  its  sell  f  Sell  is  saddle 
(Lat.  sella;  Fr.  selle)^  and  is  used  by  Spenser  in  this  sense. 

Arrowsmith  {N.  &*  Qu.,  vii,  522)  points  out  that  this  same  conjecture  is  to  be 
found  in  W.  S.  Landor's  Works,  vol.  ii,  p.  273,  Moxon's  ed. 

White.  Perhaps  side  was  meant  to  be  understood,  with  reference  to  the  occur- 
rence of  the  word  in  the  preceding  clause  of  the  sentence. 

Bailey  (i,  60-71).  The  prefix  over  in  'overleap'  must  be  taken  either  as  an 
adverb  or  as  a  preposition ;  the  consideration  of  idioms  apart,  there  is  no  tertium 
quid.  If  as  an  adverb,  leaps  itself  is  not  English.  If  as  a  preposition,  leaps  over 
itself  is  equally  destitute  of  meaning.  The  only  strong  ground  on  which  overleaps 
itself  can  be  maintained  is  that  it  is  an  idiom ;  and  this  can  be  proved  only  by  pre- 
cedents, for  which  my  own  earnest  search  has  been  in  vain.  I  suggest  merely  the 
change  of  two  letters— khe  substitution  of  seat  for  self  which  entirely  removes  the 
solecism  in  the  text.  See  i  Hen.  IV:  IV,  i,  107 ;  0th.,  II,  i,  305 ;  Meas.  for  Meas., 
I,  ii,  165.  It  has  occurred  to  me  to  read  M*  earth  instead  of  *  th'  other.'  In  order 
to  fill  up  the  metre  we  might  have  recourse  to  Steevens's  emendation,  and  read  *  falls 
upon  the  earthJ  Falling  to  the  earth  is  more  expressive  for  the  purpose  in  view 
than  falling  on  the  other  side  of  the  seat  coveted  by  ambition,  to  which  little  definite 
meaning  can  be  attached. 

Staunton.  The  only  resolution  of  the  enigma  which  presents  itself  to  our  mind 
is  to  suppose  intent  and  ambition  are  represented  in  Macbeth's  disordered  imagina- 
tion by  two  steeds,  the  one  lacking  all  incentive  to  motion,  the  other  so  impulsive 
that  it  overreaches  itself  and  falls  on  its  companion. 

Massey  (p.  599).  As  the  text  stands,  we  have  in  shadowy  imagery  a  most  extra- 
ordinary horse  and  rider.  Macbeth  was  no  more  likely  to  wear  a  single  spur  that 
would  strike  on  both  sides  than  the  Irishman  was  to  discover  the  gun  that  would 
shoot  round  the  comer.  Moreover,  his  horse  must  have  had  three  sides  to  it  at  the 
least.  Now  a  horse  may  have  four  sides,  right  and  left,  inside  and  outside,  and  the 
street  gamins  will  at  times  advise  an  awkward  horseman  to  ride  inside  for  safety, 
but  it  cannot  have  three  sides.  And  if  the  single  spur  had  pricked  two  sides^  there 
could  have  been  no  other  left  for  *  vaulting  ambition  '  to  fall  on.  The  truth  is,  that 
*  sides '  is  a  misprint.     The  single  spur  of  course  implies  a  single  side — the  side  of 


ACT  I,  sa  vu.]  MA  CBETH.  75 

Lady  M,     He  has  almost  supp'd:   why  have  you  left  the 
chamber  ? 

Macb,     Hath  he  ask'd  for  me  ? 

Lady  M,  Know  you  not  he  has?        30 

Macb,     We  will  proceed  no  further  in  this  business : 
He  hath  honour'd  me  of  late ;  and  I  have  bought 
Golden  opinions  from  all  sorts  of  people, 
Which  would  be  worn  now  in  their  newest  gloss, 
Not  cast  aside  so  soon. 

Lady  M,  Was  the  hope  drunk  35 

Wherein  you  dress'd  yourself?  hath  it  slept  since  ? 

29.  /^Aaj] /f^j  Pope,  +  .    He  hath        Ff.     not  t  he  has.  Cap.  coni.  Rann. 
Han.  33.     sorts'\  sort  Theob.  Warb.  Johns. 

30.  nothehasf^Yo^^,    not ^  he  has  f  34.     iw?j»/^]  jA<?«/c/ Pope,  Han. 

Macbeth's  intent,  which  leaves  ^  the  other"*  for  the  'vaulting  ambition'  to  alight  on 
in  case  of  a  somersault — the  side  of  Macbeth's  unintent.  Read,  *  To  prick  the  side 
of  my  intent,'  &c. 

Clarendon.  Macbeth  says  he  has  nothing  to  goad  him  on  to  the  deed, — ^nothing 
to  stimulate  his  flagging  purpose,  like  the  private  wrongs  which  he  urges  upon  the 
murderers  of  Banquo, — but  mere  ambition,  which  is  like  one  who,  instead  of  leaping 
into  the  saddle,  leaps  too  far  and  falls  on  the  other  side.  The  passage  supplies  a 
good  example  of  confusion  of  metaphors.  If  the  sentence  be  complete, '  the  other ' 
must  be  taken  to  mean  *  the  other  side,'  a  not  unnatural  ellipsis,  but  one  for  which 
we  can  adduce  no  example.  The  word  *  sell '  occurs  frequently  in  Fairfax's  Tasso, 
as,  i,g.^  Bk.  vi,  st.  32 :  <  That  he  ne'er  shook  nor  stagger'd  in  his  sell.' 

Abbott.  See  note  on  I,  ii,  7. 

Rev.  John  Hunter.  This  seems  to  me  to  signify  lights  on  the  opposite  of  what 
was  intended ;  that  is,  dishonor  and  wretchedness,  instead  of  glory  and  felicity. 

32.  bought]  Clarendon.  Purchased,  acquired.  See  Rich.  II :  I,  iii,  282,  and 
Mer.  of  Ven.,  II,  ix,  43. 

34.  would]  Clarendon.  We  say  'should'  in  this  sense,  as  in  IV,  iii,  23,  194, 
and  in  Bacon,  Essay  xxxiii.  Of  Plantations,  *■  making  of  bay  salt,  if  the  climate  be 
proper  for  it,  would  be  put  in  experience.'  [Note  on  Rich.  II :  IV,  i,  232,  233.] 
The  modem  usage  of  *  shall '  and  *  will,'  *  should  *  and  *  would,'  now  perfectly 
logical  and  consistent,  has  been  gradually  refined  and  perfected.  In  the  time  of 
Sh.  and  Bacon  these  words  were  employed  as  arbitrarily  and  irregularly  as  they  still 
are  in  conversation  by  Scotchmen  and  Irishmen.  The  late  lamented  Sir  Edmund 
Head  wrote  a  treatise  on  the  subject  which  is  well  worth  reading. 

Abbott.  See  note  I,  v,  19. 

35»  36.  Was....8ince  ?]  Abbott  (J  529  (4)).  The  present  metaphor,  apart  from 
the  context,  is  objectionable ;  for  it  makes  Hope  a  person  and  a  dress  in  the  same 
breath.  It  may,  however,  probably  be  justified  on  the  supposition  that  Lady  Macbeth 
is  playing  on  her  husband's  previous  expression,  lines  32-35. 

35.  drunk]  Malone,  The  same  expression  occurs  in  King  John,  IV,  ii,  116, 117. 

36.  dress'd]  Bailey  (vol.  i,  p.  72).    Surely  it  is  on  the  confines,  at  least,  of 


^6  MACBETH.  [act  i,  sc.  vu. 

And  wakes  it  now,  to  look  so  green  and  pale 

At  what  it  did  so  freely  ?     From  this  time 

Such  I  account  thy  love.     Art  thou  afeard 

To  be  the  same  in  thine  own  act  and  valour  40 

As  thou  art  in  desire  ?     Wouldst  thou  have  that 

Which  thou  esteem'st  the  ornament  of  life, 

And  live  a  coward  in  thine  own  esteem, 

Letting  *  I  dare  not'  wait  upon  *  I  would/ 

Like  the  poor  cat  i'  the  adage  ? 

Macb,  Prithee,  peace :  45 

38.  i/i^]  <J/V/Becket.  39.     afeard\  Q^.^,     affeardY^^^, 
tini€\     After  this  Ktly  marks  a        a/raid  ¥^,-^, 

line  omitted.  41.     have]      crave     Becket.       lack 

39.  loveJ]    heart  -■  coeur,    courage,        Anon.* 

Allen  (MS).  45.     adage?]  Cap.     addage,  Ff. 

absurdity  to  speak  of  dressing  yourself  in  what  may  become  intoxicated.  The  sub- 
stitution of  two  letters  restores,  I  apprehend,  the  genuine  text.  Read  blessed  for 
'  dress'd,'  and  all  is  plain  and  apposite  and  Shakespearian. 

37.  g^een  and  pale]  Delius.  This  refers  to  the  wretched  appearance  that  Hope 
presents  on  awaking  from  her  drunkenness,  and  in  consequence  of  it. 

38.  did]  Bailey  (vol.  i,  p.  73).  This  represents  hope  as  looking  pale  at  what 
had  gone  by.  A  new  function  for  hope — a  retrospect,  instead  of  a  contemplation 
of  the  future.  To  avoid  so  marked  an  incongruity,  instead  of  *  did  *  I  propose  read- 
ing eyed,  which  was  probably  first  corrupted  to  dyed,  and  then  into  *  did.' 

39.  love]  Delius.  That  is :  the  love  that  thou  protestcst  for  me  is  not  more 
genuine  than  the  hope  that  thou  hast  cherished  to  become  king. 

Bailey  (vol.  i,  p.  73).  It  is  clear  that  Lady  Macbeth  is  not  talking  at  all  about 
conjugal  affection,  but  about  her  husband's  courage.  Love  is  here  quite  out  of 
place — a  complete  interruption  of  the  train  of  thought.  Moreover,  there  is  no  pro- 
priety in  her  telling  Macbeth  that  henceforth  she  will  account  his  love  green  and 
pale.  My  emendation  is  almost  sure  to  startle  the  reader,  but  I  entertain  no  doubt 
that  on  reflection  he  will  become  reconciled  to  it ;  *  Such  I  account  thy  liver  J*  The 
liver  m  Sh.'s  days  was  generally  considered  to  be  the  organ  of  courage  (not  entirely 
to  the  exclusion  of  the  heart),  or  rather,  perhaps,  of  cowardice ;  and  a  white  or  pale 
liver  was  the  synonym  of  a  craven  spirit.     See  2  Hen.  IV :  IV,  iii,  113, 

RiTTER.  If  this  be  the  case,  I  account  thy  love  for  me  (i.  e.,  the  *  greatness  prom- 
ised' to  jier  in  scene  v,  12)  only  such  as  this  hope,  a  mere  drunken  fancy. 

43.  And  live]  Johnson.  In  this  there  seems  to  be  no  reasoning.  I  should  read, 
Or  live.     Unless  we  choose  rather :    Would^st  thou  leave  that. 

Steevens.  Do  you  wish  to  obtain  the  crown,  and  yet  would  you  remain  such  a 
coward  in  your  own  eyes  all  your  life  as  to  suffer  your  paltry  fears,  which  whisper, 
•  I  dare  not,*  to  control  your  noble  ambition,  which  cries  out,  *  I  would  ?' 

45.  cat]  Peck  {Memoirs  of  Milton ,  1740,  p.  253).  Alluding  to  the  French 
proverb,  Le  chat  aime  le  poisson,  mais  il  n^aime  pas  a  mouiller  lapatte, 

Johnson.  <  Catus  amat  pUces,  sed  non  vult  tingere  plantas.' 


ACT  I,  sc.  vii.]  MACBETH.  77 

I  dare  do  all  that  may  become  a  man ;  46 

Who  dares  do  more  is  none. 

Lady  M,  What  beast  was*t  then 

47.     do\    Rowe,    Southern    (MS)  *  47.     heasf]  boast  Coll.  (MS). 

Coll.  (MS),      no  Ff. 

BoswELL.  It  is  among  Hey  wood's  Proverbs,  1566:  *The  cate  would  eate  fishe, 
and  would  not  wet  her  feete.* 

Collier.  It  is  found  in  the  following  form  in  *  Adagia  Scotica,'  &c.,  collected  by 
R.  B.,  1668,  *  Ye  breed  of  the  cat :  ye  would  fain  have  fish,  but  ye  have  na  will  to 
wet  your  feet.* 

46,  47.  I. ..none]  Johnson.  The  arguments  by  which  Lady  Macbeth  persuades 
her  husband  to  commit  the  murder,  afford  a  proof  of  Sh.'s  knowledge  of  human 
nature.  She  urges  the  excellence  and  dignity  of  courage,  a  glittering  idea  which 
has  dazzled  mankind  from  age  to  age,  and  animated  sometimes  the  housebreaker, 
and  sometimes  the  conqueror ;  but  this  sophism  Macbeth  has  for  ever  destroyed,  by 
distinguishing  true  from  false  fortitude,  in  a  line  and  a  half;  of  which  it  may  almost 
be  said,  that  they  ought  to  bestow  immortality  on  the  author,  though  all  his  other 
productions  had  been  lost.  [The  present  lines  quoted.]  This  topic,  which  has  been 
always  employed  with  too  much  success,  is  used  in  this  scene,  with  peculiar  pro- 
priety, to  a  soldier  by  a  woman.  Courage  is  the  distinguishing  virtue  of  a  soldier; 
and  the  reproach  of  cowardice  cannot  be  borne  by  any  man  from  a  woman  without 
great  impatience.  She  then  urges  the  oaths  by  which  he  had  bound  himself  to 
murder  Duncan,  another  art  of  sophistry  by  which  men  have  sometimes  deluded 
their  conscience,  and  persuaded  themselves  that  what  would  be  criminal  in  others  is 
virtuous  in  them :  this  argument  Sh.,  whose  plan  obliged  him  to  make  Macbeth 
yield,  has  not  confuted,  though  he  might  easily  have  shown  that  a  former  obligation 
could  not  he  vacated  by  a  latter ;  that  obligations,  laid  on  us  by  a  higher  power, 
could  not  be  overruled  by  obligations  which  we  lay  upon  ourselves. 

Hunter.  This  reading,  which  is  merely  conjectural,  which  has  not  the  slightest 
show  of  authority  from  the  only  copies  through  which  we  receive  any  infonnation 
respecting  the  true  text  as  it  flowed  from  the  pen  of  Sh.,  has  so  established  itself  in 
public  opinion,  and  has  received  such  extravagant  praise  from  Dr  Johnson,  that  he 
will  be  thought  a  rash  man  who  shall  attempt  to  disturb  the  opinion,  and  to  show 
that  it  is  not  really  what  the  poet  wrote  or  intended.  In  the  first  place,  the  substitu- 
tion of  '  do  *  for  *  no  *  is  most  violent.  In  the  second  place,  if,  indeed,  Sh.  meant  to 
express  the  sentiment,  which  the  line  as  amended  implies,  he  has  written  feebly  and 
imperfectly,  and  left  his  sense  in  some,  perhaps  not  inconsiderable,  obscurity.  It 
will  be  admitted  that  some  change  in  the  text  as  delivered  to  us  is  required ;  that  it 
cannot  stand  as  it  appears  in  the  original  eds.  The  question  is,  not  whether  it  shall 
be  restored,  but  how  it  shall  be  restored  ?  and  I  now  venture  to  propose  that  the 
second  of  the  two  lines  [*  Who.., none '''\  shall  be  given  to  I^dy  Macbeth,  retaining 
the  exact  text  of  the  old  copies.  [Sec  also  to  the  same  effect  Hunter's  Few  Words, 
&c.,  p.  20,  1853.     Ed.] 

47.  beast]  Hunter.  I  regard  this  word  as  an  intruder,  and  that  it  has  got  in 
thus :  a  copyist  had  written  *  wast  *  by  mistake  twice.  The  first  being  but  imperfectly 
effaced  or  cancelled,  it  would  be  easily  read  *  beast,'  the  only  word  like  it  that  could 
occur. 

7* 


78  MA  CBETH.  [act  i,  sc.  vii. 

That  made  you  break  this  enterprise  to  me  ? 

Elwin.  Lady  Macbeth,  perceiving  that  the  exalted  character  of  the  argument  ad- 
duced by  her  husband  renders  it  impregnable  to  reasoning,  skillfully  brings  him  from 
the  moral  position  in  which  he  was  intrenching  himself,  by  ridiculing  that  position 
itself,  by  this  powerfully  derisive  antithesis :  If,  as  you  imply,  this  enterprise  be  not 
the  device  of  a  man,  what  beast  induced  you  to  propose  it  ? 

Collier  (Notes,  &c.,  ed.  2).  Surely  it  reads  like  a  gross  vulgarism  for  Lady 
Macbeth  thus  to  ask,  *  What  beast  made  him  divulge  the  enterprise  to  her  ?'  but  she 
means  nothing  of  the  kind :  she  alludes  to  Macbeth's  former  readiness  to  do  the 
deed,  when  he  was  prepared  to  make  time  and  place  adhere  for  the  execution  of  it, 
and  yet  could  not  now  *  screw  his  courage '  to  the  point,  when  time  and  place  had, 
as  it  were,  *  made  themselves ;'  this  she  calls  a  mere  boast  on  his  part :  she  charges 
him  with  being  a  vain  braggart,  first  to  profess  to  be  ready  to  murder  Duncan,  and 
afterward,  from  fear,  to  relinquish  it. 

John  Forster  {^The  Examiner ^  Jan.  29,  1853).  Here  Mr  Collier  reasons,  as  it 
appears  to  us,  without  sufficient  reference  to  the  context  of  the  passage,  and  its  place 
in  the  scene.  The  expression  immediately  preceding,  and  eliciting,  Lady  Macbeth*s 
reproach,  is  that  in  which  Macbeth  declares  that  he  dares  do  all  that  may  become  a 
matif  and  that  he  who  dares  do  more  is  none.  She  instantly  takes  up  that  expression. 
If  not  an  affair  in  which  a  man  may  engage,  what  beast  was  it,  then,  in  himself  or 
in  others,  that  made  him  break  this  enterprise  to  her  ?  The  force  of  the  passage  lies 
in  that  contrasted  word,  and  its  meaning  is  lost  by  the  proposed  substitution. 

Dyce  i^Few  Notes f  &c.,  p.  124).  The  emendation  of  the  (MS.)  is  not  unobjection- 
able on  the  score  of  phraseology.  A  *  boast  making  one  break  an  enterprise  to 
another  *  is  hardly  in  the  style  of  an  experienced  writer. 

Singer  {Sh.  Vindicated,  p.  253).  The  almost  gentle  manner  in  which,  in  a  former 
scene,  Macbeth  hints  at  his  purpose  in  the  words,  *  My  dearest  love,  Duncan  comes 
here  to-night,*  shows  that  what  may  be  supposed  to  have  passed  in  their  future  con- 
ference would  be  anything  but  a  boast, 

Blackwood's  Magazine  [October,  1853).  There  is  to  our  feelings  a  stronger 
expression  of  contempt,  a  more  natural,  if  not  a  fiercer,  taunt  in  boast  than  in  *  beast.* 
•  .  .  Tried  by  their  intrinsic  merits,  we  regard  boast  as  rather  the  better  reading  of 
the  two ;  and  if  we  advocate  the  retention  of  *  beast,'  it  is  only  on  the  ground  that 
it,  too,  affords  a  very  good  meaning,  and  is  de  facto  the  text  of  the  Ff. 

Delius.  *  Beast '  as  opposed  to  man,  on  the  score  of  reason,  was  a  less  harsh  ex- 
pression in  Sh.'s  time  than  at  present.     Rom.  &  Jul.,  Ill,  ii,  95. 

Clarendon.  Boast  is  utterly  inadmissible.  *  Then,'  which  follows,  seems  more 
appropriate  to  the  first  clause  of  an  indignant  remonstrance,  if  we  adopt  Rowe's 
emendation. 

Steevens.  a  similar  passage  is  in  Meas.  for  Meas.,  II,  iv,  134,  135. 

Bailey  (vol.  i,  p.  75).  Lady  Macbeth  might  with  propriety  have  taken  up  Mac- 
bcth's  remarks  in  one  of  two  ways ;  she  might  have  replied,  *  IV/iat  beast  were  you 
then  (seeing  by  your  own  declaration  that  you  were  not  a  man)  w^hcn,'  &c.  Or  she 
might  have  said,  *  Since  you  say  such  a  deed  would  sink  a  man  below  humanity, 
what  degradation  of  your  nature  was  it  that  made  you  divulge  your  project  to  your 
wife  ?'  In  the  first,  the  term  beast  would  be  retained,  but  the  structure  of  the  sen- 
tence would  be  changed ;  in  the  second,  that  term  would  be  replaced  by  another 
signifying  degradation,  but  the  structure  of  the  sentence  would  remain  unaltered. 


ACT  I.  sc.  vii.l  AfA  tBETH.  79 

When  you  durst  do  it,  then  you  were  a  man ; 

And,  to  be  more  than  what  you  were,  you  would  50 

Be  so  much  more  the  man.     Nor  time  nor  place 

Did  then  adhere,  and  yet  you  would  make  both : 

They  have  made  themselves,  and  that  their  fitness  now 

Does  unmake  you.     I  have  given  suck,  and  know 

How  tender  'tis  to  love  the  babe  that  milks  me:  55 

I  would,  while  it  was  smiling  in  my  face, 

Have  pluck'd  my  nipple  from  his  boneless  gums. 

And  dash'd  the  brains  out,  had  I  so  sworn  as  you 

Have  done  to  this. 

51.  the\  than  Han.  me..,,  Ktly. 

52.  adhere\  c<hhere  Vo^t-\r ,  58,59.     And..„.this\    Steev.      First 

53.  They  have"]  They've   Pope,  +  .  line  ends  at  S7twrne,  Ff,  Knt,  Sta, 
55.  me:']  Cap.    me — Rowe,  +  .    me,  58.     brains']  branes  F,. 

Ff,  Han.  i.    me;  Han.  ii.  Johns.  Sta.  so]  F,.     but so¥^^^,-\r  Cap. 

The  received  reading  is  a  hybrid  between  the  two.  It  does  not  ask  Macbeth  whether 
he  was  then  a  beast^  or  what  vileness  actuated  him,  but  what  beast  prompted  his  dis- 
closure— which  is  incoherent  and  beside  the  mark,  since  there  is  no  question  of  ex- 
ternal influence,  but  one  of  internal  conflict  and  mutation.  Inasmuch  as  the  first 
method  here  described  would  alter  the  structure  of  the  sentence,  we  are  led  to  adopt 
the  second  method,  which  requires  only  such  a  synonyme  for  degradation  as  would 
be  readily  transmuted  into  *  beast.*  Unless  I  am  greatly  mistaken  we  may  find  the 
word  in  baseness.  By  this  reading  the  metre  is  preserved  by  making  *  was't '  a  long 
or  accented  syllable,  or  in  other  words  the  last  foot  becomes  an  amphibrach  instead 
of  an  iambus. 

In  the  Jahrbuch  der  Deutschen  Shakespeare- Gesellschaft^  vol.  i,  p.  146,  Mr 
KoESTER  infers  from  this  word  that  a  former  scene  has  been  omitted,  either  lost,  or 
cut  out  by  some  stage-manager,  in  which  Macbeth  and  his  wife  discuss  the  murder, 
and  in  which  Macbeth  asserts  his  readiness  to  do  the  deed  and  to  force  the  adherence 
of  time  and  place.  *  An  aposiopesis,  such  as  Lessing  referred  to  when  he  asserts  that 
a  dramatist  is  sometimes  greater  in  what  he  does  not  say  than  in  what  he  says,  cannot 
here  be  seriously  maintained.  Such  a  scene  is  too  important  to  the  action  of  the 
tragedy  to  have  been  overlooked  by  Sh.,  who  is  always  so  exact  in  such  matters ; 
without  it  Duncan's  murder  takes  place  too  early,  and  it  is  needed  to  counterbalance 
artistically  the  long-drawn-out,  almost  epic  scenes  between  Malcolm  and  Macdufl" 
towards  the  close  of  the  tragedy.*     Ed. 

52.  adhere]  Capell  (ii,  9).  It  is  not  the  coherence  of  time  with  place ;  but  the 
adherence  of  these  two  with  the  murder  of  the  king. 

51,  52.  Nor.. .adhere].  See  Heraud,  p.  342. 

58.  the]  Clarendon.  We  should  now  say  *  its  brains,*  but  *the'  is  found  not 
unfrequently  for  the  possessive  pronoun.  Compare  the  version  of  Lev.,  xxv,  5  in 
the  Bishops*  Bible :  *  That  which  groweth  of  the  owne  accord,*  &c.     And  Bacon, 

Advancement  of  Learning,  i,  4,  §  I :  * it  is  the  manner  of  men  to  scandalize 

and  deprave  that  which  retaineth  the  state  and  virtue.* 


8o  MACBETH.  [act  i,  sc.  vii. 

Macb,  If  we  should  fail  ? 

Lady  M.  We  fail ! 

59.     shouicf]  shaiiSiQty,  l^^2.  others. 

fail  /]  Ff,  Cap.  Dyce,  Glo.  Camb.  59.    fat/  /]  Rowe.  /ai/^  ?  F,F,.  fail  ? 

Sta.    Cla.    >///— Rowe,   Pope,   Han.  FjF^.  Coll.   faU,  Cap.  Knt,  Huds.  Sing. 

Theob.   i.    fail!  Sing.   ii.    /a//,— all  ii.    fail!!  Ktly. 

out]  Lettsom  (Walker's  Vers.^  Txy)^  foot-note).  But  of  F,  is  a  crutch  furnished 
by  the  compassionate  editor  to  assist  the  lameness  of  the  metre.  The  idiom  of  our 
language,  as  well  as  the  harmony  of  the  verse,  seems  to  require  us  to  read,  '  And 
dash'd  the  brains  onU  out,  had  I  so  sworn,*  &c. 

sworn]  Seymour.  The  measure  of  the  line  is  complete  without  *  so.' 

Hudson.  It  is  said  that  Mrs  Siddons  used  to  utter  the  close  of  this  speech  in  a 
scream,  as  though  she  were  almost  frightened  out  of  her  wits  by  the  audacity  of 
her  own  tongue.  And  I  can  easily  conceive  how  a  spasmodic  action  of  fear  might 
lend  to  such  a  woman  as  Lady  Macbeth  an  appearance  of  superhuman  or  inhuman 
boldness.  At  all  events,  it  should  be  observed  that  her  energy  and  intensity  of 
purpose  overbears  the  feelings  of  the  woman ;  and  her  convulsive  struggle  of 
feeling  against  that  overbearing  violence  of  will  might  well  be  expressed  by  a 
scream. 

59.  We  fail  I]  Steevens.  Macbeth  having  casually  employed  the  former  part  of 
the  common  phrase:  If  we  fail,  we  fail,  his  wife  designedly  completes  it.  We  fail, 
and  thereby  know  the  extent  of  our  misfortune.  Lady  Macbeth  is  unwilling  to 
afford  her  husband  time  to  state  any  reasons  for  his  doubt.  Such  an  interval  for 
reflection  to  act  in  might  have  proved  unfavorable  to  her  purposes.  This  reply,  at 
once  cool  and  determined,  is  sufficiently  characteristic  of  the  speaker :  according  to 
the  old  punctuation,  she  is  represented  as  rejecting  with  contempt  (of  which  she  had 
already  manifested  enough)  the  very  idea  of  failure.  According  to  the  mode  of 
pointing  now  suggested,  she  admits  a  possibility  of  miscarriage,  but  at  the  same 
instant  shows  herself  not  afraid  of  the  result.  Her  answer,  therefore,  communicates 
no  discouragement  to  her  husband. —  We  fail !  is  the  hasty  interruption  of  scornful 
impatience.  We  fail. — is  the  calm  deduction  of  a  mind  which,  having  weighed  all 
circumstances,  is  prepared,  without  loss  of  confidence  in  itself,  for  the  worst  that  can 
happen. 

Mrs  Jameson  (ii,  319).  Mrs  Siddons  adopted  successively  three  different  intona- 
tions in  giving  the  words  we  fail.  At  first  as  a  quick  contemptuous  interrogation. 
Afterwards  with  the  note  of  admiration,  and  an  accent  of  indignant  astonishment, 
laying  the  emphasis  on  '  we.'  Lastly,  she  fixed  on  what  I  am  convinced  is  the  true 
reading — we  fail,  with  the  simple  period,  modulating  her  voice  to  a  deep,  low,  reso- 
lute tone,  which  settled  the  issue  at  once — as  though  she  had  said,  *  If  we  fail,  why 
then  we  fail,  and  all  is  over.'  This  is  consistent  with  the  dark  fatalism  of  the 
character,  and  the  sense  of  the  line  following — and  the  effect  was  sublime,  almost 
awful. 

Knight.  We  prefer  the  quiet  self-possession  of  the  punctuation  we  have  adopted. 

Dyce  {^Remarks,  &c.).  There  is  in  reality  no  difference;  whether  the  words  be 
pointed  '  We  fail  !*  or  *  We  fail  ?'  (and  I  much  prefer  the  former  method),  they  can 
only  be  understood  as  an  impatient  and  contemptuous  repetition  of  Macbeth's  '  we 
fail, — .*     Any  kind  of  admission  on  the  part  of  Lady  Macbeth  that  the  attempt 


ACT  I,  sc.  Tii.]  MACBETH.  8 1 

But  screw  your  courage  to  the  sticking-place,  60 

And  we'll  not  fail.     When  Duncan  is  asleep, — 

Whereto  the  rather  shall  his  day's  hard  journey 

Soundly  invite  him, — his  two  chamberlains 

Will  I  with  wine  and  wassail  so  convince, 

That  memory,  the  warder  of  the  brain,  65 

62.     his\  this  Pope,  Han. 

might  prove  unsuccessful,  appears  to  me  quite  inconsistent  with  all  that  she  has  pre- 
viously said,  and  all  that  she  afterwards  says,  in  the  present  scene.  She  hastily  in- 
terrupts her  husband,  checking  the  very  idea  of  failure  as  it  rises  in  his  mind.  I 
recollect,  indeed,  hearing  Mrs  Siddons  deliver  the  words  as  if  she  was  *  stating  the 
result  of  failure ;'  but  there  can  be  no  doubt  that  she  had  adopted  that  manner  of 
delivery  in  consequence  of  Steevens's  note.  [DvcE  [ed,  i).  In  the  folio  the  inter- 
rogation-point is  frequently  equivalent  to  an  exclamation-jwint.] 

60.  sticking-place]  Steevens.  A  metaphor  perhaps  taken  from  the  screwing 
up  the  chords  of  string-instruments  to  their  proper  degree  of  tension,  when  the  peg 
remains  fast  in  its  sticking-place,  i.  e.,  in  the  place  from  which  it  is  not  to  move. 
Thus,  perhaps,  in  Twelfth  Night,  V,  i,  126. 

Staunton.  The  abiding  place, — *  Which  flower  out  of  my  hand  shall  never  passe. 
But  in  my  heart  shall  have  a  sticking-place  * — Th^  Gorgeous  Gallery  of  Gallant  In- 
ventionSf  1578. 

Clarendon.  A  similar  figure  is  found  in  Cor.  I,  viii,  11.  Compare  also  Tro. 
and  Cres.,  Ill,  iii,  22-25.  ^  'wrest'  is  an  instrument  for  tuning  a  harp,  this  last- 
cited  passage  lends  some  probability  to  Steevens's  interpretation. 

63.  chamberlains]   [See  Appendix,  p.  358.] 

64.  wassail]    Singer.    Thus  explained  by  Bullokar  in  his  Expositor,  1616: 
Wassailet  a  term  usual  heretofore  for  quaffing  and  carowsing ;  but  more  especially 

signifying  a  merry  cup  (ritually  composed,  deckt  and  Bird  with  country  liquor) 
passing  about  amongst  neighbors,  meeting  and  entertaining  one  another  on  the  vigil 
or  eve  of  the  new  year,  and  commonly  called  the  wassail-bol.^ 

Clarendon.  Derived  from  the  Anglo-Saxon  waes  hael^  *  be  of  health.'  This, 
according  to  Geoffrey  of  Monmouth,  was  the  salutation  used  by  Rowena  to  Vortigem 
in  presenting  a  cup  of  wine.  Hence  *  wassail '  came  to  mean  drinking  of  healths, 
revelry,  and  afterwards  *  drink '  itself.     Here  it  means  *  revelry.* 

64.  convince]  Johnson.  To  overpoxver  or  subdue^  as  in  IV,  iii,  142. 

Steevens.  In  Holinshed  :  * thus  mortally  fought,  intending  to  vanquish  and 

convince  the  other.' 

Harry  Rowe.  My  wooden  figure,  who  performs  Sh.'s  principal  characters,  and 
whose  head  is  made  of  a  piece  of  the  famous  mulberry  tree,  observes,  that  the  known 
property  of  strong  drink  is  to  *  confound '  and  not  to  *  convince  *  the  understanding. 

Clarendon.  So  in  Hall's  Chronicle,  Richard  III,  fol.  33  a:  *  Whyle  the  two  for- 
wardes  thus  mortallye  fought,  eche  entending  to  vanquish  and  conuince  the  other.* 

65-67.  Clarendon.  By  the  old  anatomists  (Vigo,  fol.  6  b,  ed.  1586)  the  brain 
was  divided  into  three  ventricles,  in  the  hindermost  of  which  they  placed  the  memory. 
That  this  division  was  not  unknown  to  Sh.  we  learn  from  Love's  Lab.  Lost,  IV,  ii, 
70.  The  third  ventricle  is  the  cerebellum,  by  which  tl\p  brain  is  connected  with  the 
ipinAl  marrow  and  the  rest  of  the  body:  the  memory  is  posted  in  the  cercljeilim 

F 


82  MACBETH.  [act  I,  sc.  vii. 

Shall  be  a  fume,  and  the  receipt  of  reason 

A  limbec  only :  when  in  swinish  sleep 

Their  drenched  natures  lie  as  in  a  death, 

What  cannot  you  and  I  perform  upon 

The  unguarded  Duncan  ?  what  not  put  upon  70 

His  spongy  officers,  who  shall  bear  the  guilt 

Of  our  great  quell  ? 

Macb,  Bring  forth  men-children  only  ; 

For  thy  undaunted  mettle  should  compose 

68.     lie\  lyes  F,.  ter. 

72-74.     j^n«^...wa/?j.]  Aside,  Hun-  73.     mettle\  metal  Y ^,^o\it^-\^ , 

like  a  warder  or  sentinel  to  warn  the  reason  against  attack.  When  the  memory  is 
converted  by  intoxication  into  a  mere  fume  (compare  The  Temp.,  V,  i,  67),  then  it 
fills  the  brain  itself,  the  receipt  or  receptacle  of  reason,  which  thus  becomes  like  an 
alembic  or  cap  of  a  still.  For  *  fUme '  compare  Cymb.,  IV,  ii,  301.  And  Dryden*s 
Aurengzebe :  *  Power  like  new  wine  does  your  weak  brain  surprise.  And  its  mad 
fumes  in  hot  discourses  rise.'     See  also  Ant.  and  Cleop.,  II,  i,  24. 

66.  receipt]  Clarendon.  See  Bacon,  Essay  xlvi :  *  Fountains,  .  .  .  one  that 
sprinckleth  or  spouteth  water ;  the  other  a  faire  receipt  of  water.' 

67.  limbec]  Clarendon.  Derived  by  popular  corruption  from  *  alembic,'  a  word 
adopted  from  the  language  of  the  Arabian  alchemists  of  Spain  into  all  the  languages 
of  Europe.  The  word  is  formed  from  a/,  the  Arabic  definite  article,  and  the  Greek 
&fi^i^f  used  by  Dioscorides  in  the  sense  of  the  cap  of  a  still,  into  which  the  fumes 
rise  before  they  pass  into  the  condensing  vessel.  The  word  *  limbec '  is  used  by 
Milton,  Par.  Lost,  iii,  605,  and  by  Fairfax,  Tasso,  Bk,  iv,  st.  75.  The  Italian  form 
is  limbico. 

68.  drenched]  Walker  {^Cril,  i,  165).  Cited  as  a  peculiar  construction  with  the 
adjective. 

a  death]  Clarendon.  The  indefinite  article  may  be  used  here  because  it  is  only 
a  kind  of  death,  a  sleep,  which  is  meant.     Compare  Wint.  Tale,  IV,  ii,  3. 

72.  quell]  Johnson.  Murder;  manquellers  being,  in  the  old  language,  the  term 
for  which  murderers  is  now  used. 

Nares.  Hence,  *  Jack  the  giant-queller '  was  once  used. 

Collier.  To  *  quell '  and  to  kill  are  in  fact  the  same  word  in  their  origin,  from 
the  Saxon  cwellan, 

Elwin.  It  is  very  improbable  that  Lady  Macbeth  should  be  represented,  in  this 
place,  as  thus  characterizing,  to  her  husband,  their  mutual  deed,  by  its  most  startling 
and  revolting  appellation.  To  quell  is  to  subdue^  to  defeat ;  and,  by  using  this  word 
as  a  neuter  noun,  she  contrives  to  veil  the  heinous  nature  of  their  guilt,  under  an 
expression  at  once  significative  of  triumph  and  of  the  magnitude  of  the  obstacle 
subdued.  It  is  equivalent  to  our  great  defeating^  or  the  great  defeat  we  make.  So 
in  Hamlet,  II,  ii,  597. 

Clarendon.  As  a  substantive  it  is  found  only  here.  We  have  *  man-queller ' 
in  2  Hen.  IV :  II,  i,  58.  The  same  compound  is  used  by  Wiclif  for  *  executioner,' 
in  translating  Mark,  vi,  27,  and  for  *  murderer,'  Acts,  xxviii,  4. 

73.  mettle]  Clarendon.  This  is  the  same  word  as  *  metal,'  and  in  the  old  eds. 


ACT  I.  sc.  vU.]  MACBETH.  83 

Nothing  but  males.     Will  it  not  be  received, 

When  we  have  mark'd  with  blood  those  sleepy  two  75 

Of  his  own  chamber,  and  used  their  very  daggers, 

That  they  have  done't  ? 

Lady  M,  Who  dares  receive  it  other, 

As  we  shall  make  our  griefs  and  clamour  roar 
Upon  his  death  ? 

Macb,  I  am  settled,  and  bend  up 

Each  corporal  agent  to  this  terrible  feat.  So 

Away,  and  mock  the  time  with  fairest  show : 
False  face  must  hide  what  the  false  heart  doth  know. 

\ExeunU 

79.    I am\  Pm  Popc,+  ( — ^Johns.),  Dyce  ii. 

they  are  spelt  indifferently  in  either  sense.  Its  metaphorical  meaning  is  sometimes 
so  near  its  natural  meaning  that  it  is  difficult  to  distinguish  between  them.  G}mpare 
Rich.  Ill :  IV,  iv,  302. 

74-77.  Will....done't?]  Hunter.  It  is  manifest,  on  a  little  consideration  of  the 
state  of  Macbeth's  mind,  that  he  could  not  have  used  the  words  given  to  him  in  these 
lines.  If  he  had  given  utterance  to  anything  like  this,  he  would  have  said,  *  Will  it 
be  received,'  &c.,  while  the  words  suit  exactly  with  the  state  of  mind  and  the  objects 
of  the  unrelenting  lady. 

77.  other]  Abbott  (§  12).  This  may  be  used  adverbially  for  *  otherwise,*  as  in 
0th.,  IV,  ii,  13,  All's  Well,  III,  vi,  27,  and  Com.  of  Err.,  II,  i,  n, 

78.  As]  Clarendon.  Equivalent  to,  seeing  that.  We  should  be  inclined  to  take 
'  other  as '  in  the  sense  of  <  otherwise  than  as,'  if  we  could  find  an  example  to 
justify  it. 

79.  bend  up]  Clarendon.  This  is,  of  course,  suggested  by  the  stringing  of  a 
bow. 

81,  82.  Away... .know]  Hunter.  With  less  confidence,  these  two  lines  appear 
to  me  to  belong  to  Lady  Macbeth,  and  not  to  her  husband.  Macbeth  was  to  go  in 
to  Duncan  in  accordance  with  the  message  brought  by  the  lady. 


84  MACBETH,  [ACT  II.  sc.  i. 


ACT  II. 

Scene  I.    Inverness.     Court  of  Macbeth* s  castle. 

Enter  Bahqvo,  preceded  by  Fleance  imth  a  torch. 

Ban,     How  goes  the  night,  boy  ? 
Fie,    The  moon  is  down ;  I  have  not  heard  the  clock. 
Ban,    And  she  goes  down  at  twelve. 
Fie,  I  take't,  'tis  later,  sir. 

Ban,     Hold,  take  my  sword. — ^There's  husbandry  in  heaven, 
Their  candles  are  all  out. — ^Take  thee  that  too. —  5 

Inverness.. .castle.]  Dyce.    The  same.  and  Fleance  with  a  torch.  Huds.  Sta. 

Court  within  the  Castle.   Johns,   conj.  Knt  ii. 

Cap.  Coll.    A  Hall.  Rowe.     A  Hall  in  2.     The  moon clock,'\  Pve  not,,,,, 

Macbeth's  Castle.  Pope,  +  Hal.  clock :   The  moon  is  dorwn,     Seymour, 

Enter...]  Dyce.     Enter  Banquo,  and  ending  the  first  line  at  clock, 

Fleance,  with  a  Torch  before  him.  Ff,  4.     Hold, heaven'\    Rowe.      Two 

Rowe,  +  Coll.     Enter  Banquo,  and  Fie-  lines  Ff. 

ance ;  Servant  with  a  Torch  before  them.  Ther^s'\  *  Tis  very  dark  ;  therms 

Cap.  Steev.  Var.  Sing.     Enter  Banquo  Seymour. 

Scene  i.]  Johnson.  It  is  not  easy  to  say  where  this  encounter  can  be.  It  is  not 
in  the  hallf  as  the  editors  have  all  supposed  it,  for  Banquo  sees  the  sky ;  it  is  not  far 
from  the  bedchamber,  as  the  conversation  shows :  it  must  be  in  the  inner  court  of 
the  castle,  which  Banquo  might  properly  cross  in  his  way  to  bed. 

Capell  [Notes,  &c.,  ii,  loa).  A  large  court  surrounded  all  or  in  part  by  an  open 
gallery ;  chambers  opening  into  that  gallery ;  the  gallery  ascended  into  by  stairs, 
open  likewise ;  with  addition  of  a  college-like  gateway,  into  which  opens  a  porter's 
lodge ;  appears  to  have  been  the  poet's  idea  of  the  place  of  this  great  action.  The 
circumstances  that  mark  it,  are  scattered  through  three  scenes ;  in  the  latter,  t/ie  hail 
(which  modems  make  the  scene  of  this  action),  is  appointed  a  place  of  second 
assembly,  in  terms  that  show  it  plainly  distinct  from  that  assembled  in  them.  Build- 
ings of  this  description  rose  in  ages  of  chivalry ;  when  knights  rode  into  their  courts, 
and  paid  their  devoirs  to  ladies,  viewers  of  their  tiltings  and  them  from  these  open 
galleries.  Fragments  of  some  of  them,  over  the  mansions  of  noblemen,  are  still 
subsisting  in  London,  changed  to  hotels  or  inns.  Sh.  might  see  them  much  more 
entire,  and  take  his  notion  from  them. 

Stage  direction]  Collier.  The  old  stage  direction  says  nothing  about  a  servant, 
as  in  the  modem  eds.     Fleance  carried  the  torch  before  his  father. 

Dyce.  In  the  stage  directions  of  old  plays,  *  a  Torch '  sometimes  means  a  torch- 
bearer,  as  *  a  Trumpet  *  means  a  trumpeter, 

4.  husbandry]  Malone.  Thrift,  frugality. 

5.  Their]  Clarendon.  Note  the  plural,  and  compare  Rich.  II:  I,  ii,  7.  Also 
Rich.  II:  III,  iii,  17,  19;  Ham.,  Ill,  iv,  173;  Oth.,  IV,  ii,  47.  In  Rich.  Ill :  IV, 
iv,  71,  72  we  have  the  plural  pronoun  used  with  *  hell.* 

candles]  Clarendon.  Compare  Mer.  of  Yen.,  V,  i,  220;  Rom.  &  Jul.,  Ill,  v,  9 


ACT  II,  SC.  i.] 


MACBETH. 


85 


A  heavy  summons  lies  like  lead  upon  me, 
And  yet  I  would  not  sleep.     Merciful  powers, 
Restrain  in  me  the  cursed  thoughts  that  nature 
Gives  way  to  in  repose ! — 

Enter  MACBETH,  and  a  Servant  with  a  torch. 

Give  me  my  sword. — 
Who's  there  ? 

Macb.     A  friend. 

Ban,     What,  sir,  not  yet  at  rest  ?     The  king's  a-bed  : 
He  hath  been  in  unusual  pleasure,  and 
Sent  forth  great  largess  to  your  offices  : 


10 


7-9.  And„.,repo5e  f\  Rowe,  Lines 
end  sUepe  :....t?ioughts„.repo5e,  Yi, 

9,  10.     Gives there  ?'\  As  in  Han. 

The   lines   end  repose there?  in  Ff, 

Rowe,  + . 

9.  Enter...]  Ff,  +  ,Jenn.  Cam.  After 
there  ?  Dyce,  Sta.  Clarke,  Huds.  ii.  After 
sword.  Cap.  et  cet. 

Give,„sword,'\  om.  Sejrmour. 

13.     hath  been'\    hath    to-night  been 


Pope,+  Cap. 

I3»  14'    pleasure,  and  Sent"]    Jenn. 
pleasure.  And  sent  F,,  Rowe  ii,+  Cap. 
Sta.  pleasure.  And  sent  F^F^F^,  Rowe  i. 
14.     Sent  fort h'\  sent  Pope,  +  Cap. 
greaf^  a  great  F^F^F^. 
offices'\  officers  Rowe,  +  Cap.  Jenn. 
Mai.    Rann.    H.  Rowe,  Var.    Sing,    i, 
Dyce,  Hal.  Sta.  Ktly,  Huds.  ii. 


And  Fairfax's  Tasso,  Bk,  ix,  st.  lo :  *  When  heaven's  small  candles  next  shall  shine.* 
The  original  Italian  has  merely  *  Di  notte.' 

5.  Take]  Seymour.  Probably  a  dirk  or  dagger. 

Elwin.  Banquo  has  put  from  him  his  several  weapons  of  defence  from  horror  at 
the  particular  use  his  dreams  have  prompted  him  to  make  of  them.  He  resumes  his 
sword  upon  hearing  approaching  footsteps. 

Clarendon.  In  a  friend's  house  Banquo  feels  perfectly  secure. 

Take  thee]  Abbott  (§212).  In  the  present  instance  thee  is  the  dative.  [See  I, 
v.  23.     Ed.] 

9.  repose]  Steevens.  Sh.  has  here  most  exquisitely  contrasted  Banquo's  cha- 
racter with  that  of  Macbeth.  Banquo  is  praying  against  being  tempted  to  encourage 
thoughts  of  guilt  even  in  his  sleep ;  while  Macbeth  is  hurrying  into  temptation,  and 
revolving  in  his  mind  every  scheme,  however  flagitious,  that  may  assist  him  to  com- 
plete his  purpose.  The  one  is  unwilling  to  sleep,  lest  the  same  phantoms  should 
assail  his  resolution  again,  while  the  other  is  depriving  himself  of  rest  through  im- 
patience to  commit  the  murder. 

12.  What... rest  ?]  Abbott  (§  513).  When  a  verse  consbts  of  two  parts  uttered 
by  two  speakers,  the  latter  part  is  frequently  the  former  part  of  the  following  verse, 
being,  as  it  were,  amphibious,  as  here. 

14.  offices]  Steevens.  The  rooms  appropriated  to  servants  and  culinary  pur- 
poses.    Thus,  Tim.,  II,  ii,  167 ;  Rich.  II :  I,  ii,  69. 

M ALONE.  *  Offices '  is  a  palpable  misprint    Officers  means  servants.    So  I,  vii,  71, 
and  Tam.  the  Shrew,  IV,  i,  50. 
8 


86  MACBETH.  [act  ii.  sc.  i. 

This  diamond  he  greets  your  wife  withal,  i  S 

By  the  name  of  most  kind  hostess ;  and  shut  up 
In  measureless  content. 

Macb,  Being  unprepared, 

Our  will  became  the  servant  to  defect, 

i6,  17.     By„„content.'\   As  in  Pope.  16.     and  shut  up\  And  shut  it  up 

By.., .hostess  one  line,  Ff,  Rowe.  F^F^F^,  Hunter,     and'^s  shut  up  Han. 

16.  hostess;']  An  omission  here.  Cap.  Jenn.  and  is  shut  up  YitzXYi  con]. 
Anon,  conj.* 

Nares.  The  lower  parts  of  London  houses  are  always  called  offices.  Largess  was 
given  to  servants,  not  to  *  officers.* 

Knight.  It  is  of  little  consequence  whether  the  largess  went  to  the  servants  or  to 
the  servants'  hall. 

Collier.  Malone's  change  is  not  only  needless  but  improper.  To  send  largess 
to  the  *  offices  *  in  Macbeth's  castle  was  to  give  it  to  the  persons  employed  in  them, 

Dyce.  *  Offices  *  is  a  sheer  misprint. 

Walker  {Crit.,  ii,  53).  Final  e  and  final  er  confounded.  See  also  'ghostly  Fries 
close  cell '  in  F,,  Rom.  &  Jul.,  II,  iii,  188.  Again  we  have  sleeper  for  sieepe  in  line 
51  of  this  same  scene. 

Lettsom  (foot-note  to  preceding).  The  same  error  is  found  in  the  Dutchesse  of 
Malfy,  II,  ii,  ed.  1623,  where  Antonio,  having  had  *  all  the  Officers  o'  th'  court '  called 
up,  afterwards  says,  *  All  the  Offices  here  V  and  the  servants  reply,  *  We  are.*  Nares 
maintained  [as  above],  but  Hen.  VII  (see  Richardson's  Diet.)  *gave  to  his  officers 
of  armes  vi/.  of  his  largesse.'' 

16.  shut  up]  Steevens.  That  is,  concluded.  In  The  Spanish  Tragedy:  *And 
heavens  have  shut  up  day  to  pleasure  us.*  Again,  in  Spenser's  Fairy  Queen,  Bk, 
iv,  c.  ix :  *  And  for  to  shut  up  all  in  friendly  love.'     Again,  in  Reynold's  God^s 

Revenge  against  Murder,  1621  :  * though  the  paients  have  already  shut  up  the 

contract.'    Again,  in  Stowe's  Account  of  the  Earl  of  Essex's  Speech  on  the  Scaffold : 

*  He  shut  up  all  with  the  Lord's  prayer.' 

Malone.  Stowe's  Annals,  p.  833 :  * the  king's  majestic  shut  up  all  with  a 

pithy  exhortation.* 

Boswell.  I  should  rather  suppose  it  means  enclosed  in  content;  content  with 
everything  around  him.  So  Barrow  :  *  Hence  is  a  man  shut  up  in  an  irksome  bond- 
age of  spirit.* — Sermons,  1683,  vol.  ii,  231. 

Hunter.  Now  see  the  reading  of  F^,.  Undoubtedly  the  jewel  in  its  case.  That 
jewels  were  enclosed  in  cases  is  a  point  which  needs  not  a  word  of  note  to  prove. 

Singer  (ed.  2).  It  must  be  taken  to  signify  either  that  the  king  concluded,  or  that 
he  retired  to  rest,  shut  himself  up. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  Mr  W.  N.  Lettsom  would  read,  * as  shut  up*  &c, 

Keightley.  This  seems  to  apply  to  Duncan.  The  expression  is  similar  to  '  I 
am  wrapp'd  in  dismal  thinkings.' — All's  Well,  V,  iii,  128. 

Clarendon.  There  is  probably  some  omission  here,  because  if  *  shut  up  *  be  a 
participle,  the  transition  is  strangely  abrupt.  If  we  take  *  shut  *  as  the  preterite,  we 
require  some  other  word  to  complete  the  sense,  as  *  shut  up  all  *  or  *  shut  up  the  day.* 

*  Shut  up '  may,  however,  like  *  concluded,*  be  used  intransitively. 

18.  defect]  Malone,  Being  unprepared,  our  entertainment  was  necessarily  dt" 


ACT  II,  sc.  i.]  MACBETH.  8/ 

Which  else  should  free  have  wrought. 

Ban,  All's  well. 

I  dreamt  last  night  of  the  three  weird  sisters :  20 

To  you  they  have  show'd  some  truth. 

Macb,  I  think  not  of  them : 

Yet,  when  we  can  entreat  an  hour  to  serve, 
We  would  spend  it  in  some  words  upon  that  business, 
If  you  would  grant  the  time. 

Ban,  At  your  kind'st  leisure. 

Macb,     If  you  shall  cleave  to  my  consent,  when  *tis,  25 

It  shall  make  honour  for  you. 

19.  Airs\  Sir,  all  is  Steev.  conj.  it  in]  it  Rowe  i.  om.  Rowe  ii. 
w^//]  v^ry  w<f// Han.  Cap.                        24.     kitufst^kindslY^,  kindF^^,^-, 

20.  dreamt]  dreampt  F^F  .  kindest  H.  Rowe,  Ktly. 

21.  /Ary  ^az/^]  M^y/'v^  Pope,  +  Dyce  25.  my  consent]  my  ascent  Qa^.  zoxi), 
ii.                                                                       MS.*    me  constant  Jackson,     my  :on- 

23.    We  would]  fVouldFo^,+  Steev.        vent  Becket. 
Var.  Sing.  i.  25,  26.     wAen  Uis,..you]  One  line,  Ff. 

fective,  and  we  only  had  it  in  our  power  to  show  the  king  our  willingness  to  serve 
him.  Had  we  received  sufficient  notice  of  his  coming,  our  zeal  should  have  been 
more  clearly  manifested  by  our  acts.  Which  refers,  not  to  the  last  antecedent,  defect ^ 
but  to  will, 

18.  19.  to.. .else]  Daniel  (p.  71).  Read,  *to  effect  Whichj  else,'  &c. 

19.  wrought]  Abbott  (§  484).  See  note  on  I,  ii,  5. 

20.  weird]  Abbott  (§  485).  Monosyllables  containing  a  vowel  followed  by  *r* 
are  often  prolonged.     So  also  in  III,  iv,  133,  IV,  i,  136,  and  I,  iii,  32. 

22.  to  serve]  Clarendon.  When  we  can  prevail  upon  an  hour  of  your  time  to 
be  at  our  service.  Macbeth' s  language  is  here  that  of  exaggerated  courtesy,  which 
to  the  audience,  who  are  in  the  secret,  marks  his  treachery  the  more  strongly.  Now 
that  the  crown  is  within  his  grasp,  he  seems  to  adopt  the  royal  *  we '  by  anticipation. 

25,  26.  cleave.... you]  Johnson.  Macbeth  expresses  his  thought  with  affected 
obscurity ;  he  does  not  mention  the  royalty,  though  he  apparently  had  it  in  his  mind. 
If  you  shall  cleave  to  my  consent y  if  you  shall  concur  with  me  when  I  determine  to 
accept  the  crown,  7uhen  *tiSf  when  that  happens  which  the  prediction  promises,  it 
shall  make  honour  for  you. 

Heath  [Revisal^  &c.,  p.  385).  If  you  shall  cleave  to  that  party  which  consents  to 
my  advancement,  whenever  the  opportunity  may  offer. 

Jennens.  I  should  rather  think  something  is  lost  here,  of  the  following  purport : 

Ban.    *  At  your  kind'st  leisure. — 

Those  lookers  into  fate,  that  hail'd  you,  Cawdor  ! 
Did  also  hail  you,  king  I  and  I  do  trust. 
Most  worthy  Than*,  you  would  consent  to  accept 
What  your  deserts  would  grace,  when  offer'd  you.* 

Steevens.  *  Consent  *  has  sometimes  the  power  of  the  Latin  concentus.  Thus  m 
2  Hen.  IV :  V,  i,  79 ;  As  You  Like  It,  II,  ii,  3.  Macbeth  mentally  refers  to  the 
crown  he  expected  to  obtain  in  consequence  of  the  murder  he  was  about  to  commit. 


88  MACBETH.  [ACT  ix.  sc.  i. 

Ban,  So  I  lose  none 

In  seeking  to  augment  it,  but  still  keep 
My  bosom  franchised  and  allegiance  clear, 
I  shall  be  counsell'd. 

Macb,  Good  repose  the  while ! 

Ban,     Thanks,  sir :  the  like  to  you  !  30 

\Exeunt  Banquo  and  Fleance, 

30.     [Exeunt...]  Theob.     Exit  Ban-        Servant  Cap, 
quo.   Ff,  Rowe,  Pope.      Exeunt.. ..and 


Banquo's  reply  is  only  that  of  a  man  who  determines  to  combat  every  possible 
temptation  to  do  ill.  Macbeth  could  never  mean,  while  yet  the  success  of  his  attack 
on  the  life  of  Duncan  was  uncertain,  to  afford  Banquo  the  most  dark  or  distant  him 
of  his  criminal  designs  on  the  crown.  Had  he  acted  thus  incautiously,  Banquo 
would  naturally  have  become  his  accuser,  as  soon  as  the  murder  had  been  dis- 
covered. 

Malone.  a  passage  in  The  Temp.,  II,  i,  269,  leads  me  to  think  that  Sh.  wrote 
content.  The  meaning  then  of  the  present  difficult  passage,  thus  corrected,  will  be : 
If  you  will  closely  adhere  to  my  cause,  if  you  will  promote,  as  far  as  you  can,  what 
is  likely  to  contribute  to  my  satisfaction  and  content^ — when  Uis^  when  the  prophecy 
of  the  weird  sisters  is  fulfilled,  when  I  am  seated  on  the  throne,  the  event  shall 
make  honour  for  you.     See  Davenant's  paraphrase. 

Collier.  *  If  you  shall  adhere  to  my  opinion,  when  that  leisure  arrives,  it  shall 
make  honour  for  you.* 

Elwin.  *  If  you  shall  hold  to  what  I  consent  to  do,  when  *tis  done,  it  shall  be  to 
your  advantage.' 

Hudson.  The  meaning  evidently  is,  if  you  will  stick  to  my  side,  to  what  has  my 
consent ;  if  you  will  tie  yourself  to  my  fortunes  and  counsel. 

Staunton.  This  passage,  we  apprehend,  has  suffered  some  mutilation  or  cor- 
ruption since  it  left  the  poet's  hands.  It  seems  impracticable  to  obtain  a  consistent 
meaning  from  the  lines  as  they  now  stand. 

White.  This  may  mean,  to  those  who  agree  with  me,  to  my  party.  But  I  think 
there  is  not  improbably  a  misprint  of  *  consort.'  As  in  Two  Gent,  of  Ver.,  IV,  i,  64, 
*  Wilt  thou  be  of  our  consort  ?'  and  in  Lear,  II,  i,  99,  *  He  was  of  that  consort.' 

Delius.  If  you  will  cleave  to  the  agreement  with  me,  it  shall  in  due  time  make 
honour  for  you.  *  Consent '  is,  perhaps  through  being  confounded  with  concent^  more 
than  a  mere  passive  agreement  or  understanding,  just  as  to  constnt  is  used  in  this 
more  expanded  sense  in  0th.,  V,  ii,  297.  (Z^jc. — The  use  of  a  more  explicit  word 
would  have  betrayed  him.) 

Clarke.  If  you  will  adopt  and  adhere  to  my  opinion,  when  my  mind  is  made  up. 

Keightley.  I  cannot  make  sense  of  *  consent.' 

Clarendon.  If  you  shall  adhere  to  my  party,  then,  when  the  result  is  attained, 
it  shall  make  honour  for  you.  *  When  'tis*  probably  means  *  when  that  business 
(line  23)  is  effected.'  If  *  consent'  be  the  right  reading,  it  may  be  explained  either 
as  above,  or  as  *  the  plan  I  have  formed.' 

[Bailey  (ii,  25)  conjectures  ascent^  but  according  to  the  Camb.  ed.  he  is  antici- 
pated by  Capell.     Ed.] 

30.  Exeunt,  &c.]  Collier.  Fleance  no  doubt  stood  back  while  his  father  and 


ACTii,  sc.  i.]  MACBETH.  89 

Macb,     Go  bid  thy  mistress,  when  my  drink  is  ready, 
Slie  strike  upon  the  bell.     Get  thee  to  bed. — \Exit  Servant 
Is  this  a  dagger  which  I  see  before  me, 
The  handle  toward  my  hand  ? — Come,  let  me  clutch  thee. 
I  have  thee  not,  and  yet  I  see  thee  still.  35 

Art  thou  not,  fatal  vision,  sensible 
To  feeling  as  to  sight  ?  or  art  thou  but 
A  dagger  of  the  mind,  a  false  creation, 
Proceeding  from  the  heat- oppressed  brain  ? 

I  see  thee  yet,  in  form  as  palpable  40 

As  this  which  now  I  draw. 

Thou  marshall'st  me  the  way  that  I  was  going ; — 
And  such  an  instrument  I  was  to  use. 

31.  Scene  ii.  Pope,  Han.  Warb.  41-43.  A5,...tue^  End  the  lines  me 
Johns.                                                                ,.,. instrument.... use.  Walker  (Crit.,  iii, 

32.  [Exit  Servant.]  Exit.  Ff.  253). 

Macbeth  were  talking  together,  and  he  goes  out  with  Banquo,  still  carrying  the 
torch.  This  was  part  of  the  economy  of  the  old  stage,  which  could  not  spare  a  per- 
former merely  for  the  purpose  of  carrying  a  torch,  which  might  be  borne  by  Fleance. 
When  Macbeth  enters  with  a  servant,  the  *  servant  with  a  torch  *  is  expressly  men- 
tioned in  the  Ff.,  and  Macbeth  has  to  send  a  necessary  message  by  him  to  Lady  M. 

31.  drink]  Elwin.  This  night-cup  or  posset  was  an  habitual  indulgence  of  the 
time. 

Seymour.  Macbeth  wanted  no  such  mechanical  signal  as  a  bell  for  the  perform- 
ance of  the  murder ;  the  bell,  which  afterwards  strikes,  is  the  clock,  which  accident- 
ally, and  with  much  more  solemnity,  reminds  him  it  is  time  to  despatch. 

32.  strike]  Clarendon.  *  That  she  strike '  or  *  strike '  would  have  been  the 
natural  construction  after  *  bid.*  *  She  strike  *  would  not  have  been  used  but  for 
the  intervening  parenthesis. 

33.  Is  this]  Seymour.  This  is  always  delivered  on  the  stage  with  an  expression 
of  terror  as  well  as  surprise,  but  I  am  persuaded  it  is  a  misconception :  if  the  vision 
were  indeed  terrible,  the  irresolute  spirit  of  Macbeth  would  shrink  from  it ;  but  the 
effect  is  confidence  and  animation,  and  he  Iries  to  lay  hold  of  the  dagger;  and  in- 
deed upon  what  principle  of  reason,  or  on  what  theory  of  the  mind,  can  it  be  pre- 
sumed that  the  appearance  of  supernatural  agency,  to  effect  the  immediate  object  of 
our  wish,  should  produce  dread  and  not  encouragement  ? 

Elwin.  Macbeth  entertains  a  suspicious  doubt  of  the  reality  of  the  dagger  until 
it  assumes,  without  apparent  cause,  a  bloody  appearance,  when  he  at  once  dismisses 
it  as  fanciful. 

36.  sensible]  Clarendon.  Capable  of  being  perceived  by  the  senses.  Johnson 
gives  as  an  example  of  this  meaning  from  Hooker :  *  By  reason  man  attaineth  unto 
the  knowledge  of  things  that  are  and  are  not  sensible.'  It  does  not  appear  to  be 
used  elsewhere  by  Sh.  in  this  objective  sense. 

41.  Abbott.  See  note  I,  ii,  20.     Macbeth  may  be  supposed  to  draw  his  dagger 
after  this  short  line. 
8* 


90  MACBETH,  [act  ii,  sc.  i. 

Mine  eyes  are  made  the  fools  o'  the  other  senses, 

Or  else  worth  all  the  rest : — I  see  thee  still ;  45 

And  on  thy  blade  and  dudgeon  gouts  of  blood, 

41-45.    As, ., still ;'\  Five  lines,  end-  46.     thy  blade  and  dudgeon]  th€  blade 

ing   tne....instrument,„.fools,„.rest, — ....         of  th*  dudgeon  Warb. 
still;  Ktly. 

44,  45.  mine.. .rest]  Delius.  If  the  dagger  be  unreal,  then  his  eyes  are  befooled 
by  the  other  senses,  which  prove  its  unreality.  But  if  the  dagger  is  something  more 
than  a  phantom,  then  his  eyes,  by  means  of  which  alone  he  has  perceived  it,  are  worth 
all  the  other  senses  put  together. 

46.  dudgeon]  Steevens.  Though  dudgeon  sometimes  signifies  a  dagger^  it  more 
properly  means  the  haft  or  handle  of  a  dagger.     Thus  Stanyhurst's  Virgil,  1583 : 

*  Well  fare  thee,  haft  with  the  dudgeon  dagger,^ 

Nares.  Abr.  Fleming,  in  his  Nomenclator,  from  Junius,  says,  *  Manubrium  api- 
atum,  a  dudgeon-haft.'  P.  275.     Which  the  Cambridge  Diet,  of  1693  explains  by 

*  A  dudgeon-haft,  manubrium  appiatum  (r.  apiatum)  or  buxeum,^  Here  we  have  the 
key  to  the  whole  secret.  It  was  a  box-handle ;  which  Bishop  Wilkins  completely 
confirms  in  the  Alphabetical  Dictionary  appended  to  his  Essay  torivards  a  Real  Cha- 
racter, 1668 :  *  Dudgeon,  root  of  box,'  and  *  Dudgeon-dagger,  a  small  sword  whose 
handle  is  of  the  root  of  box*  This  is  likewise  confirmed  by  Gerrard,  under  the 
article  Box-tree :  *  The  root  is  likewise  yellow,  and  .  .  .  more  fit  for  dagger-hafts, 
and  such  like  uses.  .  .  .  Turners  and  cutlers,  if  I  mistake  not  the  matter,  doe  call 
this  wood  dudgeon,  wherewith  they  make  dudgeon- haf ted  daggers.'  The  explana- 
tions and  etymologies  of  dudgeon  by  Skinner  and  Junius  are  perfectly  unsatisfactory. 

Singer  (ed.  2).  It  has  not  been  remarked  that  there  is  a  peculiar  propriety  in 
giving  the  word  to  Macbeth,  the  Scottish  daggers  having  generally  the  handles  of 
box-wood.     Thus  Torriano  has :  *  A  Scotch  or  dudgeon  haft  dagger,^ 

Dyce  ( Gloss,),  Gifford,  speaking  of  the  variety  in  the  hafts  of  daggers,  observes : 

*  The  homeliest  was  that  d  roilles,  a  plain  piece  of  wood  with  an  orbicular  rim  of 
iron  for  a  guard ;  the  next,  in  degree,  was  the  dudgeon,  in  which  the  wood  was 
gouged  out  in  crooked  channels,  like  what  is  now,  and  perhaps  was  then,  called 
snail-creeping,* — Note  on  Jonson^s  Works,  v,  221.  Richardson,  however,  denies  that 
dudgeon  means  either  *  wooden  *  or  *  root  of  box,'  though  *  the  word  may  be  applied 
as  an  epithet  to  the  box  or  any  other  wood,  to  express  some  particular  quality,'  &c. 
Diet,  in  V. 

Clarendon.  In  the  will  of  John  Amell,  dated  1473,  quoted  in  Arnold's  Chroni- 
cles, p.  245,  ed.  181 1,  he  bequeaths  *  all  my  stuf  beyng  in  my  shoppe,  that  is  to  saye, 
yuery,  dogeon  \i,  e.,  dudgeon],  horn,  mapyll,  and  the  toel  y'  belongeth  to  my 
crafte,'  &c.  The  only  plausible  derivations  yet  suggested  are  (i)  the  German  degen, 
a  sword,  or,  still  better,  (2)  dolchen,  a  dagger.  Cotgrave  gives  *  Dague  k  roelles. 
A  Scottish  dagger ;  or  Dudgeon  haft  dagger.' 

46.  gouts]  Steevens.  Gouts  is  the  technical  term  for  the  spots  on  some  part  of 

the  plumage  of  a  hawk.     In  heraldry,  when  a  field  is  charged  or  sprinkled  with  red 

drops,  it  is  said  to  be  gutty  of  gules.     The  same  word  occurs  in  The  Art  of  Good 

Lyving  and  Good  Deyng,  1503;  *  Befor  the  jugement  all  herbys  shal  sweyt  read 

^outys  of  water,  as  blood.' 

Clarendon.  Drops,  from  the  French  goutte,  and,  according  to  stage  tradition,  so 


ACT  II.  sc.  i.]  MA  CBETH.  9  ^ 

Which  was  not  so  before.     There's  no  such  thing : 

It  is  the  bloody  business  which  informs 

Thus  to  mine  eyes. — Now  o'er  the  one  half-world 

Nature  seems  dead,  and  wicked  dreams  abuse  50 

The  curtained  sleep ;  witchcraft  celebrates 

49.     JTIwj]  rviwRoweii,  Pope,  Han.  (MS),  Ktly. 

the  one  half-world^  one  half  the  51.    witchcraff^  nonv  witchcraft  Dav. 

iwrA/Pope,  +  .  Rowe,-i-    Cap.    Steev.   Var.    Dyce    ii, 

51.    sleep]  sleepeY^T^,    sleeper  Steev,  Huds.  ii.     juhile  witchcraft 'Slcholson,* 
conj.   Rann,   H.  Rowe,  Sing.  Coll.  ii, 


pronounced.  *  Gowtytli  *  for  *  droppeth  *  occurs  in  an  Old  English  MS.  (Halliwell, 
Archaic  &  Prov.  Diet.,  s.  v.). 

49.  one  half-world]  Johnson.  That  is,  *  over  our  hemisphere  all  action  and 
motion  seem  to  have  ceased.*  This  image,  which  is,  perhaps,  the  most  striking  that 
poetry  can  produce,  has  been  adopted  by  Dryden  in  his  Conquest  of  Mexico  : 

'  All  things  are  hush'd  as  Nature's  self  lay  dead. 
The  mountains  seem  to  nod  their  drowsy  head ; 
The  little  birds  in  dreams  their  songs  repeat, 
And  sleeping  flow'rs  beneath  the  night  dews  sweat. 
Even  lust  and  envy  sleep  !' 

These  lines,  though  so  well  known,  I  have  transcribed,  that  the  contrast  between 
them  and  this  passage  of  Sh.  may  be  more  accurately  observed.  Night  is  described 
by  two  great  poets,  but  one  describes  a  night  of  quiet,  the  other  of  perturbation.  In 
the  night  of  Dryden,  all  the  disturbers  of  the  world  are  laid  asleep;  in  that  of  Sh., 
nothing  but  sorcery,  lust,  and  murder,  is  awake.  He  that  reads  Dryden,  finds  him- 
self lulled  with  serenity,  and  disposed  to  solitude  and  contemplation.  He  that 
peruses  Sh.,  looks  round  alarmed,  and  starts  to  find  himself  alone.  One  is  the  night 
of  a  lover ;  the  other,  of  a  murderer. 

Malone.  So,  in  the  second  part  of  Marston's  Antonio  and  Mellida,  1602 : 

'  'Tis  yet  dead  night ;  yet  all  the  earth  is  dutch'd 
In  the  dull  leaden  hand  of  snoring  sleep. 
No  breath  disturbs  the  quiet  of  the  air, 
No  spirit  moves  upon  the  breast  of  earth. 
Save  howling  dog»,  night-crows,  and  screeching  owls. 
Save  meagre  ghosts,  Piero,  and  black  thoughts. 

I  am  great  in  blood, 

Unequal'd  in  revenge : — you  horrid  scouts 
That  seniiftft  sw&ri  night,  give  loud  applause 
From  your  large  palms.' 

[For  the  pronunciation  of  *  one '  in  Sh.'s  time,  see  Walker,  Crit.,  ii,  90,  Abbott, 
{  80,  and  Grant  White's  English  Pronunciation  of  the  Elizabethan  Era  in  Sh.'s 
WorkSf  vol.  xii,  p.  426.     See  also  III,  iv,  131 ;  V,  viii,  74.     Ed.] 

51.  curtain'd  sleep]  Steevens.  Milton  has  transplanted  this  image  into  his 
G)mus,  v,  $54:  * steeds  That  draw  the  litter  of  close-curtain'd  sleep.' 

RiTSON.  Sleeper  (Steevens's  conjecture)  is  clearly  Sh.'s  own  word. 

Knight.  We  have  no  doubt  that  Sh.  introduced  the  long  pause  [between  *  sleep' 
and  *  witchcraft ']  to  add  to  the  solemnity  of  the  description. 

Collier.  The  insertion  of  now  before  *  witchcraft '  is  surely  injurious,  as  re- 


92  MACBETH.  [act  ii,  sc.  i. 

Pale  Hecate's  offerings ;  and  wither'd  murder, 

Alarum'd  by  his  sentinel,  the  wolf, 

Whose  howl's  his  watch,  thus  with  his  stealthy  pace. 

With  Tarquin's  ravishing  strides,  towards  his  design  55 

52.     wither^d'\  with  her  Miss  Seward.  55.    With   Tarquin^ 5.,..5tride5\   Pope. 

54.     h(m)rs\  Howie's  F^.     howles  F,.  With  Tarquins.^Mdes,  Ff,  Rowe,  Mai. 

54,  55.    pace...  With'\  pace  Enters  the  Knt  i.     With  ravishing  Tar  quints  sides, 

portal;  while  night-waking  Lust,  With  Becket.       With     Tarquin's    ravishing 

Mai.  conj.  (withdrawn).  ideas,  Jackson. 

gards  the  effect  of  the  line ;  it  is  much  more  impressive  in  the  original ;  and,  as  it 
has  been  often  remarked,  we  have  no  right  to  attempt  to  improve  Sh.'s  versification  : 
if  he  thought  Bt  to  leave  the  line  here  with  nine  syllables,  as  he  has  done  in  other 
instances,  some  people  may  consider  him  wrong,  but  nobody  ought  to  venture  to 
correct  him. 

Dyce.  a  manifestly  imperfect  line. 

Collier  (ed.  2).  Amended  incontrovertibly  to  'sleeper'  in  the  (MS.). 

White.  Steevens*s  emendation  is  no  less  injurious  to  the  rhythm  of  the  line  as  a 
whole  than  detrimental  to  the  poetic  sense.     Davenant's  <  now  *  is  much  better. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  I  agree  with  Grant  White,  and  I  cannot  forget  what  Milton,  with 
an  eye  to  the  present  passage,  has  written  in  Comus,  v.  554. 

Abbott.  See  note  on  I,  ii,  5. 

52.  offerings]  Clarendon.  That  is,  the  offerings  made  to  Hecate.  They  were 
made  with  certain  rites,  hence  the  use  of  the  word  *  celebrate.*  See  Lear,  II,  i,  41, 
and  compare  III,  v,  of  this  play. 

53.  Alarum'd]  Clarendon.  Formed  from  the  French  alarme,  Italian  alarma, 
a  new  syllable  being  introduced  between  the  two  liquids.  The  original  word  was 
doubtless  alP  arme. 

Jordan.   * der  hagre  Mord  H6rt  das  "Heraus!"  von  seiner  Schildwacht 

heulen,  Dem  Wolf,  und,'  &c. 

54.  watch]  Clarendon.  Who  marks  the  periods  of  his  night-watch  by  howling, 
as  the  sentinel  by  a  cry. 

55.  strides]  Johnson.  A  ravishing  stride  is  an  action  of  violence,  impetuosity, 
and  tumult,  like  that  of  a  savage  rushing  on  his  prey ;  whereas  the  poet  is  here 
attempting  to  exhibit  an  image  of  secrecy  and  caution,  of  anxious  circumspection 
and  guilty  timidity,  the  stealthy  pace  of  a  ravisher  creeping  into  the  chamber  of  a 
virgin,  and  of  an  assassin  approaching  the  bed  of  him  whom  he  proposes  to  murder, 
without  awaking  him ;  these  he  describes  as  moving  like  ghosts,  whose  progression 
is  so  different  from  strides,  that  it  has  been  in  all  ages  represented  to  be  as  Milton 
expresses  it :  *  Smooth  sliding  without  step.'  This  hemistich  will  afford  the  true 
reading  of  this  place,  which  is,  I  think,  to  be  corrected  thus  :  *  With  Tarquin  rav- 
ishing, slides  towards*  &c. 

Heath  (p.  387).  The  objection  to  'strides*  is  founded  wholly  in  a  mistake. 
Whoever  hath  experienced  walking  in  the  dark  must  have  observed,  that  a  man 
under  this  disadvantage  always  feels  out  his  way  by  strides,  by  advancing  one  foot, 
as  far  as  he  finds  it  safe,  before  the  other,  and  that  if  he  were  to  slide  or  glide  along, 
as  ghosts  are  represented  to  do,  the  infallible  consequence  would  be  his  tumbling  on 
his  nose. 


ACT  II.  sc.  i.]  MACBETH.  93 

Moves  like  a  ghost. — Thou  sure  and  firm-set  earth, 

56.     sttre'\   Pope   conj.   Cap.     sonvre         +.     j^r^  Tieck  conj, 
F,F,.    scwr  Fj.     sour  F^.     sound  Pope 

X.  {Geftt.  Mag.  vol.  Iviii,  p.  766,  1788).  Macbeth  was  treading  on  a  boarded  floor 
up  one  pair  of  stairs  (probably  in  a  passage  or  lobby),  which  made  a  cracking  noise 
that  obliged  him,  in  his  alarm,  to  take  long  and  cautious  steps.  This  granted,  we 
may  pretty  safely  adopt  the  word  slides, 

Steevens.  Spenser  uses  the  word  in  his  Fairy  Queen,  b.  iv,  c.  viii,  and  with  no 
idea  of  violence  annexed  to  it :  *  With  easy  steps  so  soft  as  foot  could  stride*  Again, 
Harrington's  Ariosto,  1591,  *  He  takes  a  long  and  leisurable  stride.*  The  ravisher 
and  murderer  would  naturally  stride  in  order  that  their  steps  might  be  fewer  in  num- 
ber, and  the  sound  of  their  feet  be  repeated  as  seldom  as  possible. 

Warburton.  Compare  Lucrece,  162-168. 

Knight.  '  Strides,'  in  its  usual  acceptation,  and  looking  at  its  etymology,  does  not 
convey  the  notion  of  stealthy  and  silent  movement.  We  receive  it  as  Milton  uses 
it :  *  The  monster  .  .  .  came  as  fast  With  horrid  strides,*  &c.  Can  we  reconcile, 
then,  the  word  sides  with  the  context  ?     Might  we  not  receive  it  as  a  verb,  and  read 

the  passage,  * with  his  stealthy  pace  (Which  Tarquin's  ravishing  sides)  towards 

his  design.  Moves,*  &c.  To  side  is  to  match,  to  balance,  to  be  in  a  collateral  posi- 
tion. Thus  in  Ben  Jonson's  Sejanus :  *  Whom  he  .  .  .  Hath  rais'd  from  excrement 
to  side  the  gods?'  In  the  passage  before  us,  *murther'  'with  his  stealthy  pace,' 
which  pace  sides^  matches,  *  Tarquin's  ravishing*  (ravishing  a  noun),  moves  like  a 
ghost  towards  his  design.  Which  and  With  were  often  contracted  in  writing,  and 
might  easily  be  mistaken  by  the  printer. 

Hunter.  Tarquin  seems  to  have  haunted  the  imagination  of  Sh.  from  his  early 
days,  when  he  chose  the  rape  of  Lucretia  as  the  subject  of  a  poem.  He  appears  in 
the  plays  several  times,  and  often  unexpectedly,  and  certainly  never  less  propitiously 
than  here,  whether  we  read  strides  or  sides.  It  would  a  little  improve  the  passage 
if,  for  *  With,*  we  read  *  Or,'  the  two  motions  of  the  murderer,  stealthy  and  hasty, 

Dyce  (Retnarhs,  8lc.).  I  have  no  doubt  that  'strides'  is  the  genuine  reading. 
Those  who  object  that  the  word  conveys  an  idea  of  violence,  &c.,  ought  to  remem- 
ber that  Sh.  in  a  very  early  poem  had  described  that  very  Tarquin  as  *  stalking*  into 
the  chamber  of  Lucretia. —  The  Rape  of  Lucrece,  366. 

Collier  (ed.  2).  There  can  be  no  doubt  about  the  fitness  of  Pope's  emendation, 
although  it  is  not  made  in  the  (MS). 

White.  Pope's  emendation  will  seem  happy  to  every  cautious  person  who  has 
stepped  through  a  sick  chamber,  or  any  apartment  in  which  there  were  sleepers 
whom  he  did  not  wish  to  wake,  and  who  remembers  how  he  did  it. 

Staunton.  It  is  painful  to  reflect  that,  with  the  exception  of  *  Pericles  *  and  « All's 
Well,*  this  sublime  drama  is  more  carelessly  printed  in  the  only  old  edition  of  it  we 
possess,  than  any  other  in  the  collection.  There  are  probably  not  thirty  consecutive 
lines  throughout  which  have  come  down  to  us  as  the  poet  wrote  them.  In  this  line 
sides,  it  may  be  suspected,  is  not  the  only  error.  « Tarquin's  ravishing  strides '  reads 
very  like  a  transposition  of  *  Ravishing  Tarquin's  strides.* 

Delius.  '  Ravishing '  is  not  to  be  connected  with  '  strides  *  as  a  participle,  but  as 
a  verbal  substantive. 

Clarendon.  *  Stride*  is  not  used  in  the  sense  in  which  Johnson  and  Knight  inter- 
pret it  in  Rich.  II :  I,  iii,  268. 


94  MACBETH.  [actii,  sc.  i. 

Hear  not  my  steps,  which  way  they  walk,  for  fear  57 

Thy  very  stones  prate  of  my  whereabout, 
And  take  the  present  horror  from  the  time, 

$7.     which  way  they]  Rowe.     which  S^*  ^*y  whereabout']  that  we're  about 

thty  may  Ff.  Han. 

walk  t  for]  walk,     /vr  Becket.  59,  60.     And  take.  ..Which]  And  talk 

58.     Thy]  T'i*^  H.  Rowe,  Huds.  —The  present  horrour  of  the  time  I 

That  Johns,  conj. 

56.  Moves]  Delius.  The  light  footfalls  of  Tarquin*s  occur  to  another  criminal 
also,  on  the  way  to  his  crime :  Cymb.  II,  ii,  12. 

sure]  X.  {Gent.  Mag:  vol.  Iviii,  p.  767,  1788).  Macbeth,  in  his  agony,  addresses 
himself  to  the  earth,  which  is  below  him,  and  probably  said,  *  Thou  lower  and,*  &c. 

Gdllier.  No  doubt  in  the  MS  from  which  the  tragedy  was  printed  in  1623  the 
word  was  written  seivre,  a  not  very  unusual  mode  of  spelling  it  at  that  time,  and 
hence  the  corruption,  which  became  sour  in  F^. 

57.  way]  Collier.  The  Rev.  Mr  Barry  proposes  *  7vhere  they  may,*  but  wh  was 
not  used,  as  he  supposes,  for  a  contraction  of  where  in  MSS  of  the  time. 

Walker  {Crit.  ii,  301).  The  printer  of  the  Folio  in  V,  iii,  22,  *my  way  of  life,' 
has  fallen  into  exactly  the  converse  of  this  error :  quod  tamen  amplectitur  Lud. 
Tieck,  poSta  eximius,  criticus  ne  Coleridgio  quidem  comparandus. 

Abbott  (J  414).  See  note,  IV,  iii,  171. 

Clarendon.  For  this  construction,  so  common  in  Greek,  see  Mark  i,  24 ;  Luke 
iv.  34 ;  and  Lear,  I,  i,  272. 

Herrig.  The  reading  of  the  Ff  may  be  very  well  justified  as  characteristic  of 
Macbeth's  visionary  condition. 

58.  stones]  Zachary  Grey  (ii,  144).  An  allusion  probably  to  Luke  xix,  40.    • 
Clarendon.  Compare  Lucrece,  302-306. 

58.  whereabout]  Delius.  Elsewhere  Sh.  uses  where  and  wherefore  as  substan- 
tives: Lear  I,  i,  264;  Com.  of  Err.  II,  ii,  45. 

X.  (Cent.  Mag,  vol.  Iviii,  p.  766,  1788).  Macbeth  expresses  the  very  natural  wish 
that  the  earth  should  veer  or  wheel  about  on  its  axis,  in  order  to  produce  daylight 
and  relieve  him  of  his  present  horrors.  I  therefore  read  the  line,  *  Thy  very  stones 
prate  of  me;  veer  about,*  &c. 

59.  present  horror]  Warburton.  What  was  the  horror  he  means?  Silence^ 
than  which  nothing  can  be  more  horrid  to  the  perpetrator  of  an  atrocious  design. 

Johnson.  Whether  to  take  horror  from  the  time  means  not  rather  to  catch  it  as 
communicated,  than  to  deprive  the  time  of  horror ^  deserves  to  be  considered. 

Steevens.  The  latter  is  surely  the  true  meaning.  Macbeth  would  have  nothing 
break  through  the  universal  silence  that  added  such  a  horror  to  the  night,  as  suited 
well  with  the  bloody  deed  he  was  about  to  perform.  Burke,  in  his  Essay  on  the 
Sublime  and  Beautiful,  observes  that  *  all  genera'  privations  are  great,  because  they 
ire  all  terrible  ;*  and  with  other  things  he  gives  silence  as  an  instance,  illustrating 
the  whole  by  that  remarkable  passage  in  Virgil,  where,  amidst  all  the  images  of 
terror  that  could  be  united,  the  circumstance  of  silence  is  particularly  dwelt 
upon: 

'  Di,  quibut  imperium  est  animanim,  Umbneque  titenUs, 
Et  Chaoi,  ec  Phlegethon,  loca  nocte  taceutia  late.' — M,n.  vi,  263-4. 


ACTU,  sc.  i.]  MACBETH.  95 

Which  now  suits  with  it. — Whiles  I  threat,  he  lives  :  60 

Words  to  the  heat  of  deeds  too  cold  breath  gives.     \A  bell  rings. 

I  go,  and  it  is  done :  the  bell  invites  me. — 

Hear  it  not,  Duncan,  for  it  is  a  knell 

That  summons  thee  to  heaven,  or  to  hell !  \ExiU 

60.     W5//«]  Wii/j/ Rowe  + .    While  61.     In  the  margin  by  Pope,  Ilan. 

Cap.  Rann,  H.  Rowe. 

When  Statius,  in  the  fifth  book  of  the  Thebaid^  describes  the  Lemnian  massacre, 
his  frequent  notice  of  the  silence  and  solitude,  both  before  and  after  the  deed,  is 
striking  in  a  wonderful  degree :  <  Conticuere  domus,*  &c. ;  and  when  the  same  poet 
enumerates  the  terrors  to  which  Chiron  had  familiarized  his  pupil,  he  subjoins, 
* nee  ad  vastae  trepidare  silentia  sylvae.' — Achtlleid  ii,  391.  Again,  when  Taci- 
tus describes  the  distress  of  the  Roman  army  under  Qecina,  he  concludes  by  observ- 
ing, * ducemque  terruit  dira  quUs.^ — Annal.  I,  Ixv,  In  all  the  preceding  pas- 
sages, as  Pliny  remarks,  concerning  places  of  worship,  silentia  ipsa  adoramtis. 

M.  Mason.  One  of  the  circumstances  of  horror  enumerated  by  Macbeth  is. 
Nature  seems  dead. 

Malone.   So  also  in  the  second  jEneid:  *  Horror  ubique  animos,  simul  ipsa 

silentia  terrent.*      Dryden's   well-known   lines,  which  exposed  him  to  so  much 

ridicule, 

'An  horrid  stillness  first  invades  the  ear. 
And  in  that  silence  we  the  tempest  hear,' 

show  that  he  had  the  same  idea  of  the  awfulness  of  silence  as  our  poet. 

Elwin.  Macbeth,  under  the  influence  of  his  own  pernicious  purposes,  images 
night,  in  its  darkness,  as  a  season  in  which  the  dark  thoughts  and  actions  of  evil 
only  are  in  motion,  and  with  an  absorbing  sense  of  his  great  guilt,  designates  the 
murder  he  now  bends  his  steps  to  commit  as  the  present  horror, 

60.  it]  Delius.  This  refers  to  *  my  whereabout.* 

61.  gives]  Abbott  {\\  332,  ZZl)-  There  were  three  forms  of  the  plural  in  early 
English,  the  Northern  in  «,  the  Midland  in  en^  the  Southern  in  eth.  The  two  former 
forms  (the  last  in  the  verbs  *  doth,*  *  hath,*  and  possibly  in  others)  are  found  in  Sh. 
Sometimes  they  are  used  for  the  sake  of  the  rhyme ;  sometimes  that  explanation  is 
insufBcient. 

Clarendon.  In  this  construction  there  was  nothing  that  would  offend  the  ear  of 
Sh.'s  contemporaries.  There  is  here  a  double  reason  for  it :  first,  the  exigency  of 
the  rhyme ;  and  secondly,  the  occurrence,  between  the  nominative  and  verb,  of  two 
singular  nouns  to  which,  as  it  were,  the  verb  is  attracted.  But  a  general  sentiment, 
a  truism  indeed,  seems  feeble  on  such  an  occasion.  Perhaps  the  line  is  an  interpo- 
lation.     [See  Appendix,  p  391.] 

61.  stage  direction]  Boaden  {Life  of  ICemble,  i,  415).  Among  the  improve- 
ments introduced  by  Kemble  was  the  clock  striking  two  as  the  appointed  time  for 
the  murder  of  Duncan.  That  it  was  so  is  proved  afterwards  in  the  perturbed  sleep 
of  Lady  M.  [In  the  same  place  it  is  told  how  *  the  Witch  of  the  lovely  Crouch 
wore  a  fancy  hat,  powdered  hair,  rouge,  point  lace  and  fine  linen  enough  to  enchant 
the  spectator.'  Ed.] 

63.  knell]  Elwin.  Alluding  to  the  passing  bell,  which  was  formerly  tolled  as  the 
person  was  dying. 


96  MACBETH.  [ACTii,  sciL 

Scene  II.     The  same. 

Enter 'Lkd'^  Macbeth. 

Lady  M.     That  which  hath  made  them  drunk  hath  made  me 

bold; 
What  hath  quench'd  them  hath  given  me  fire. — Hark !     Peace ! 
It  was  the  owl  that  shrieked,  the  fatal  bellman, 

Scene  II.]  Scene  III.  Pope +.     The  end    fire, ... shriek' dy,.., night.... open:.,,. 

scene  continued  by  Rowe,  Theob.  El-  charge... possets y   Ff.     fire  .-...shriek' d,.., 

win,  Dyce,  Sta.  White.  night.... open  ; ....snores \.,,. possets ^     Knt, 

The  same.]  Cap.  Sing,  ii,  Sta. 

2 — 6.     What... possets t"]  Rowe.    Lines 

Scene  ii.]  Dyce  (Remarksy  &c.).  There  is  no  change  oi  place. 

Collier  (Notesy  &c.).  The  (MS)  strikes  out  the  printed  words  Sccena  secunda 
and  writes  same  against  them. 

White.  Not  only  is  there  no  change  of  place,  but  there  is  no  introduction  of  new 
dramatic  interest,  or  incident.  Of  yet  greater  importance  is  it  here  that  the  apparent 
continuance  of  the  action  is  vitally  essential  to  the  dramatic  impression  intended  to 
be  produced.  The  ringing  of  the  bell  by  Lady  M.y  the  exit  of  Macbeth  upon  that 
prearranged  summons,  the  entrance  of  the  Lady  to  fill  the  stage  and  occupy  the 
mind  during  her  husband's  brief  absence  upon  his  fearful  errand,  and  to  confess  in 
soliloquy  her  active  accession  to  the  murder,  the  sudden  knotking  which  is  heard 
directly  after  she  goes  out  to  replace  the  daggers,  and  which  recurs  until  she  warily 
hurries  her  husband  and  herself  away  lest  they  should  be  found  watchers,  the 
entrance  of  the  Porter ^  and  finally  of  Macduff  and  Lenox ^ — all  this  action  is  con- 
trived with  consummate  dramatic  skill ;  and  its  unbroken  continuity  in  one  spot,  and 
that  a  part  of  the  castle  common  to  all  its  inhabitants,  is  absolutely  necessary  to  com- 
plete its  purpose. 

I.  bold]  Mrs  Griffiths  {Morality  of  Sh.' s  Dramasy8ic.  p.  412).  Our  sex  is 
obliged  to  Sh.  for  this  passage.  He  seems  to  think  that  a  woman  could  not  be  ren- 
dered completely  wicked  without  some  degree  of  intoxication.  It  required  two 
vices  in  her,  one  to  intend  and  another  to  perpetrate  the  crime. 

Dyce  (Remarks,  &c.).  In  not  a  few  passages  of  Sh.  the  metrical  arrangement  of 
the  old  eds.  was  most  wantonly  altered  by  Steevens  and  Malone.  But  there  are 
some  passages — and  the  present  speech  is  one  of  them — where  a  new  division  of  the 
lines  is  absolutely  necessary.  The  regulation  given  by  Knight  is  not  'metrical,'  it 
is  barbarous.  Let  any  one  write  out  the  passage  as  prose  and  then  read  it  as  verse ; 
it  will  naturally  fall  into  the  arrangement  [by  Rowe]. 

3.  bellman]  Ci-ARENDON.  The  full  significance  of  this  passage  may  be  best 
shown  by  comparing  the  following  lines  from  Webster's  Duchess  of  Malfi,  IV,  ii, 
where  Bosola  tells  the  Duchess  : 

'  I  am  the  common  bellman, 
That  usually  is  sent  to  condcmn'd  persons 
The  night  before  they  suffer.' 

Here,  of  course,  Duncan  is  the  condemned  person.     Compare  also  Spenser's  Fairy 


ACT  II,  sc.  ii.]  MACBETH.  97 

Which  gives  the  stem*st  good-night.     He  is  about  it : 

The  doors  are  open,  and  the  surfeited  grooms  5 

Do  mock  their  charge  with  snores :  I  have  drugg'd  their  possets, 

That  death  and  nature  do  contend  about  them, 

Whether  they  live  or  die. 

Macb,  [  Within\  Who's  there  ?  what,  ho ! 

5.  surfeited^  surfeit'  Allen.  8.     Macb.    [Within]    Steev.      Enter 

6.  I  httve\  Vve  Pope  +,  Dyce  ii.  Macbeth.     Macb.  Ff. 

Queen,  v.  6,  27,  where  the  cock  is  called  *  the  native  belman  of  the  night.*  The 
owl  is  again  mentioned,  line  15,  and  in  I  Hen.  VI :  IV,  ii,  15. 

[TSCHISCHWITZ  in  his  Nachkldnge  germanischer  Mythe^  ii,  30,  points  out  that  the 
superstitious  associations  connected  with  the  owl  are  common  to  both  England  and 
Germany,  indeed,  that  some  of  them  belong  to  the  whole  Indo-germanic  family. 
They  were  rife  among  the  Romans.  See  Ovid,  Metam.  v,  550.  According  to 
Grimm  (1089)  ^^  cricket  also  foretold  death.  See  also  Harting,  Ornithology  of 
Sh,  p.  83.  Ed.] 

4.  stern'st]  Staunton  ( The  Athenceum^  26  October,  1872).  I  cannot  bring  my- 
self to  think  that  this  word  conveys  what  Sh.  had  in  mind.  It  was  not  a  harsh  or 
cruel  *  good-night,*  I  opine,  but,  as  the  word  fatal  indicates,  a  *  for-ever-and-for-ever 
farewell.*  Compare  Lear  V,  iii,  234.  My  belief  is,  though  I  offer  it  with  diffidence, 
that  we  should  read,  *  th'  etern'st  good-night.'  It  will  be  objected,  reasonably,  that 
the  accepted  text  affords  a  good  meaning.  It  does ;  but  the  question  is,  does  it  give 
us  Sh.*s  meaning,  which  is  usually  better  than  good  ?  With  equal  reason  it  may  be 
objected  that  etern'st  is  a  word  not  found  in  any  other  author.  To  this  I  can  only 
reply  that  our  old  poets  indulged  in  great  license  as  to  the  formation  of  words,  and 
that  as  Sh.  elsewhere  has  used  a  word  not  found  in  any  other  writer,  there  appears 
to  be  no  sound  reason  why  he  should  not  have  done  so  here.  It  is  worth  remarking 
that  *  good-night  *  bore  a  deeper  meaning  formerly  than  a  passing  valediction.  See 
I  Hen.  IV:  I,  iii,  194;  Rich.  Ill:  IV,  iii,  39. 

$.  grooms]  Clarendon.  Menial  servants  of  any  kind.  In  Fairfax's  Tasso,  Bk 
xiv,  St.  49,  'grooms*  are  servants  waiting  at  table,  ministri  in  the  original :  *A  hun- 
dred grooms,  quick,  diligent  and  neat.*  This  more  general  sense  of  the  word  is 
still  traceable  in  the  phrase,  *  groom  of  the  chambers.*  The  word  is  supposed  to  be 
derived  by  a  curious  corruption  from  gutna^  a  *  man  *  in  Anglosaxon,  whence  also 
*  bridegroom,'  from  bryd-gtima.  But  there  is  in  Dutch  ^grorn,  a  stripling,  a  groom ' 
(Hexham's  Diet.),  as  also  gromr  in  Icelandic,  and  it  is  probable  that  the  form  was 
used  also  in  Anglosaxon,  though  not  found  in  any  extant  literature. 

6.  snores]  Elwin.  The  snores  of  the  sleeping  guardians  of  Duncan  become 
audible  to  Lady  M.  only  upon  the  doors  of  his  apartment  being  opened  by  her  hus- 
band, thus  indicating  to  the  audience  the  brief  pause  of  listening  apprehension  that 
has  naturally  detained  the  murderer  before  entering  the  chamber  of  his  victim. 

possets]  Malone.  *Tosset,^  says  Randle  Holmes,  Academy  of  Armoun'e,  b.  iii, 
p.  84,  *  is  hot  milk  poured  on  ale  or  sack,  having  sugar,  grated  bisket,  and  eggs,  with 
other  ingredients,  boiled  in  it,  which  goes  all  to  a  curd.* 

8.  Macb.]  Knight.  After  the  last  line  of  the  preceding  scene  Tieck  inserts,  *he 
ascends,*  and  says,  *  we  learn  afterwards  that  he  descends.  I  have  inserted  this 
9  G 


98  MACBETH.  [actii,  sc.  ii 

Lady  M,     Alack,  I  am  afraid  they  have  awaked 
And  'tis  not  done :  the  attempt  and  not  the  deed  lo 

Confounds  us.     Hark !  I  laid  their  da^ers  ready ; 
He  could  not  miss  'em.     Had  he  not  resembled 
My  father  as  he  slept,  I  had  done't. — My  husband ! 

lo.     attempt and,„deed'\Y{\inieTfG[o,  12.     Vw]  Ff,  +  Sing,  ii,  Dyce,  Sta, 

Cam.  Cla.     attempt ^  and„,deed  Rowe,  White,  Glo.  Ktly,  Cam.  Cla.    them  Cap, 

Pope,  Han.     attempt  and^Meed,  Warb.  et  cet. 

Johns.  Sing.  ii.  attempt,  and.„deedy  Ff,  13.  Afy  httsbandf]  Separate  line,  Ff. 
et  cet. 

stage-direction  that  the  reader  may  the  better  understand  the  construction  of  the  old 
theatre.'  Again,  when  Macbeth  calls  out,  "Who's  there?'  he  inserts,  before  the 
exclamation,  *  he  appears  above,  and  after  it, '  he  a^ain  withdraws,^  Tieck  says, '  I 
have  also  added  these  directions  -for  the  sake  of  perspicuity.  The  edd.  make  him 
say  this  without  being  seen — "ttnthin" — which  is  an  impossibility.  To  whom 
should  he  make  this  inquiry  within  the  chambers,  where  all  are  sleeping  ?  The 
king,  besides,  does  not  sleep  in  the  first,  but  in  the  second,  chamber ;  how  loud,  then, 
must  be  the  call  to  be  heard  from  within  the  second  chamber  in  the  courtyard  below ! 
The  original,  at  this  passage,  has  Enter  Macbeth.  I  explain  this  peculiar  direction 
thus :  Macbeth  lingers  yet  a  moment  within ;  his  unquiet  mind  imagines  it  hears  a 
noise  in  the  court  below,  and  thoughtlessly,  bewildered,  and  crazed,  he  rushes  back 
to  the  balcony,  and  calls  beneath,  «*  Who's  there  ?"  In  his  agony,  however,  he  waits 
for  no  answer,  but  rushes  back  into  the  chambers  to  execute  the  murder.  Had 
Fleance  pr  Banquo,  or  even  any  of  the  servants  of  the  house,  whom  he  had  but 
just  sent  away,  been  beneath,  the  whole  secret  deed  would  have  been  betrayed.  I 
consider  this  return,  which  appears  but  a  mere  trifle,  as  a  striking  beauty  in  Sh.'s 
drama.  He  delights  (because  he  always  sets  tragedy  in  activity  through  passion  as 
well  as  through  intrigue)  in  suspending  success  and  failure  on  a  needle's  point.' 

Friesen  {Sh.  von  Gervinus,  Leipzig,  1869,  p.  80).  Sh.  always  takes  the  greatest 
pains  to  afford,  unrestricted  up  to  the  last  moment,  a  certain  freedom  of  will  to  all 
his  characters  whose  tragic  paths  lead  to  destruction.  None  of  his  tragic  heroes 
are  so  enmeshed  by  fate  or  accident  or  intrigue  that  no  loop-hole  of  safety  is  left 
them.  This  is  so  pre-eminently  in  Macbeth.  The  consummation  of  the  awful 
crime  is  suspended  up  to  the  last  moment,  when  Macbeth,  terrified  at  some  noise, 
once  more  emerges  in  doubt  from  Duncan's  chamber.  It  were  needless  here  to 
seek  for  reasons  on  theoretic  grounds ;  the  fearful  struggle  between  persevering  defi- 
ance and  yearning  for  repentance,  which  so  powerfully  affects  us  in  the  subsequent 
treatment,  would  be,  without  this  antecedent,  meaningless,  or  at  least  far  from 
tragic. 

10.  attempt]  Hunter.  This  is  usually  printed  with  a  comma  after  *  attempt.' 
This  is  wrong.  An  unsuccessful  attempt  would  produce  to  them  infinite  mischief, — 
an  attempt  without  the  deed. 

Dyce.  To  me  at  least  it  is  plain  that  here  *  the  attempt '  is  put  in  strong  opposition 
to  « the  deed,*  and  that  *  confounds  *  has  no  reference  to  future  mischief,  but  solely  to 
the  perplexity  and  consternation  of  the  moment. 

13.  father]  Warburton.  This  is  very  artful.  For,  as  the  poet  has  drawn  the 
lady  and  her  husband,  it  would  be  thought  the  act  should  have  been  done  by  her. 


ACT  n,  sc  ii.]  MACBETH.  99 

^w/^r  Macbeth. 

Macb.     I  have  done  the  deed.     Didst  thou  not  hear  a  noise  ? 

Lady  M,     I  heard  the  owl  scream  and  the  crickets  cry,         1 5 

Macb,     Did  not  you  speak  ? 

Lady  M.  When  ?     Now  ? 

Macb,     As  I  descended. 

Enter  Macbeth.]   Steev.   (1778)  14.     /A<zw] /'z/^  Pope, +,Dyce  ii. 

om.  Ff.     After  doneU.  Glo.  Cam.  Cla.  thou  nof\    not  thou  F^,   Rowe, 

Re-enter  M.  Dyce,  Sta.  Pope,  Theob.  i,  Han. 
14.     One  line,  Rowe.     Two,  Ff. 

It  is  likewise  highly  just;  for  thou;^h  ambition  had  subdued  in  her  all  the  sentiments 
of  nature  towards  present  objects,  yet  the  likeness  of  one  past^  which  she  had  been 
accustomed  to  regard  with  reverence,  made  her  unnatural  passions,  for  a  moment, 
give  way  to  the  sentiments  of  instinct  and  humanity. 

Hui>soN.  That  some  fancied  resemblance  to  her  father  should  thus  rise  up  and 
stay  her  uplifted  arm,  shows  that  in  her  case  conscience  works  quite  as  effectually 
through  the  feelings,  as  through  the  imagination  in  case  of  her  husband.  And  the 
difiference  between  imagination  and  feeling  is,  that  the  one  acts  most  at  a  distance, 
the  other  on  the  spot.  This  gush  of  native  tenderness,  coming  in  thus  after  her 
terrible  audacity  of  thought  and  speech,  has  often  reminded  us  of  a  line  in  Schiller's 
noble  drama,  The  Piccolomini,  IV,  iv :  *  Bold  were  my  words,  because  my  deeds 
were  not,^  And  we  are  apt  to  think  that  the  h^ir-stiffening  extravagance  of  her 
previous  speeches  arose  in  part  from  the  sharp  conflict  between  her  feelings  and  her 
purpose ;  she  endeavoring  thereby  to  school  and  steel  herself  into  a  firmness  and 
fierceness  of  which  she  feels  the  want. 

16.  Did. ..descended]  Hunter.  Any  agitation  of  spirit,  or  any  incoherence  of 
ideas  as  the  natural  consequence,  cannot  demand  that  the  lady,  when  she  has  an- 
swered the  inquiry  of  her  guilty  husband,  *  Didst  thou  not  hear  a  noise  ?'  by  saying, 
*  I  heard  the  owl  scream  and  the  crickets  cry :'  should  then  take  up  the  husband's 
question,  and  address  him,  *  Did  you  not  speak  ?'  but  that  this  is  also  an  inquiry  of 
the  conscience-stricken  thane,  whom  every  noise  appals,  and  who  would  have  every 
sound  translated  to  him.  He  was  not  satisfied  with  her  first  explanation.  The 
sounds  had  been  no  screaming  of  the  owl,  no  crying  of  the  cricket ;  articulate  sounds 
had  fallen  upon  his  ear,  and  he  wished  and  vainly  hoped  that  it  was  from  her  lips, 
and  not  from  those  of  another,  that  they  had  proceeded.  The  few  words  which 
constitute  that  dialogue  of  monosyllables  which  follows,  would  then  require  to  be 
thus  distributed.  He  asks,  *  Did  not  you  speak  ?'  To  which  she  replies,  *  When  ? 
Now  ?*  Both  words  spoken  with  an  interrogative  inflection.  At  what  time  do  you 
mean  that  I  spoke  ?  Is  it  now  ?  *  As  I  descended.*  Then  was  the  time  that  the 
articulate  sounds  were  heard  which  he  now  wishes  to  have  explained,  and  the  words 
should  stand  without  a  note  of  interrogation.  The  *  Ay  *  of  the  lady  then  possesses 
an  effect,  which  as  the  scene  stands  at  present  it  wants. 

[Hunter's  distribution  of  speeches  is  that  adopted  in  the  present  text.  All  other 
editions  read:  Lady  M.  Did  not  you  speak?  Macb.  When?  Leidy  M.  Now, 
Macb,  As  I  descended  ?     Ed.] 

BoDENSTEDT.  This  whispering,  so  laconic  and  yet  so  heart-piercing,  between 
the  two  who  dare  not  meet  each  other's  eyes,  belongs  to  the  mpst  powerful  that  the 


lOO  MACBETH.  [act  ii.  sc.  iL 

Lady  M,     Ay. 
Macb,     Hark ! 
Who  lies  i'  the  second  chamber  ? 
Lady  M.  Donalbain. 

Macb.    This  is  a  sorry  sight.  [Looking  on  his  hands.      20 

Lady  M,     A  foolish  thought,  to  say  a  sorry  sight. 
Macb.     There's  one  did  laugh  in's  sleep,  and  one  cried  *  Mur- 
der !' 

18,19.     Hark! c?ianUfer?'\   As  in  txA.  sUepty... other  :,..prayer5,.,MeepefYi^ 

Steev.     One  line,  Ff,  Huds.  Knt,  Sta. 

20.     [Looking ]    Cap,     Looks 22.     tVj]  Ff,  +  ,  Coll.  Huds.  Dyce, 

Pope.     om.  Ff,  Del.  Sta.  White,  Glo.  Cam.  Cla.     in  his  Cap. 

22-25.    Theri5.,Meep'\  Rowe.    Lines  et  cet. 

poetry  of  all  ages  and  all  times  has  created.  But  we  must  be  on  our  guard  against 
taking  Macbeth's  question  in  lines  31-33  as  an  expression  of  genuine  repentance. 
It  was  not  prompted  by  his  conscience,  but  only  by  his  imagination,  whose  irrepres- 
sible and  ever  flowing  tide  bore  before  him  all  the  horrors  of  the  future.  ...  It  is 
not  the  crime  already  done  that  horrifies  him ;  it  is  only  the  distressing  consequences 
which  can  spring  from  it.  His  wife  misunderstands  him  now,  just  as  she  formerly 
misunderstood  him,  when  she  spoke  of  his  milk  of  human  kindness.  She  takes  his 
words  as  an  expression  of  real  remorse,  as  we  see  by  her  reply. 

18.  Hark !]  Clarke.  The  poetry  of  this  exclamation,  as  Sh.  has  employed  it  in 
this  appalling  scene,  has  been  strangely  vulgarized  into  bare  matter  of  fact  by  the- 
atrical representation,  which  usually  accompanies  this  exclamation  of  Macbeth  by  a 
clap  of  stage  thunder.  It  appears  to  us  that  Macbeth's  *  Hark  I*  here  is  of  a  piece 
with  Lady  Macbeth's  *  Hark !'  which  she  twice  utters  just  before.  It  is  put  into 
both  their  mouths  to  denote  the  anxious  listening,  the  eager  sensitive  ears,  the  breath- 
less strain,  with  which  each  murderous  accomplice  hearkens  after' any  sound  that  they 
dread  should  break  the  silence  of  night.  She  answers  her  own  ejaculation,  in  the 
first  place,  by  observing  that  *  it  was  the  owl  that  shriek'd ;'  and,  in  the  second  place, 
by  *  I  laid  their  daggers  ready;*  showing  that  she  is  tracking  (by  her  ear)  the  pro- 
gress made  by  her  husband,  his  steps,  his  descent  from  the  death-chamber ;  then  he, 
after  coming  to  her,  also  exclaims,  *  Hark  I' — adding,  as  the  shudder  subsides  with 
which  he  has  gasped  it  forth,  *  Who  lies  i'  the  second  chamber  ?'  showing  that  he 
too  is  listening  for  possible  sounds,  and  not  listening  to  actual  ones.  The  word,  to 
our  thinking,  expressively  indicates  that  susceptibility  to  a  sound  that  may  at  any 
instant  come,  which  obtains  possession  of  those  engaged  in  a  perilous  deed, — perilous 
to  body  and  soul, — and  causes  them  to  bid  themselves  hush  and  hearken  to  what  they 
fancy  might  be  heard  but  for  the  beating  of  their  own  heart  and  the  already  busy 
whispers  of  their  own  conscience. 

20.  sorry]  Clarendon.  From  the  Anglo-Saxon  sdrig,  and  frequently  attributed 
to  inanimate  things,  as  in  2  Hen.  VI :  I,  iv,  79. 

Looking  on  his  hands]  Delius.  This  stage  direction  may  not  accord  with  Sh.'s 
meaning,  if  *  sorry  sight  *  refers  to  what  Macbeth  has  seen  in  Duncan's  chamber, 
and  which  is  to  him  so  actual  that  he  speaks  of  it  as  present  before  him. 

22.  There's]  Hunter.  There,  that  is,  in  the  second  chamber,  where  lay  the  son 
of  the  mi^rd^red  king. 


ACT  II,  sc.  ii.]  MACBETH.  lOI 

That  they  did  wake  each  other :  I  stood  and  heard  them : 

But  they  did  say  their  prayers,  and  address'd  them 

Again  to  sleep. 

Lady  M.     There  are  two  lodged  together.  25 

Macb,     One  cried  *  God  bless  us !'  and  *  Amen '  the  other, 

As  they  had  seen  me  with  these  hangman's  hands, 

Listening  their  fear,     I  could  not  say  *  Amen,' 

When  they  did  say  *  God  bless  us  !' 

Lady  M.     Consider  it  not  so  deeply.  30 

Macb.     But  wherefore  could  not  I  pronounce  *  Amen '  ? 

23.  Thai,..,,/]  They  wak'd  each  Mai.  Rann.  White,  Ktly,  Dyce  ii. 
other ;  and  I  Vo^,-^.  hands  .\»„/ear  Ff,  Cam.  CIb^     hands,.... 

24.  addressed]  address  Theoh.yifsLih,  ffar;  Rowe.  hands,„...fear,  Johns. 
Johns.  hands.   ...fear,  Pope,+  Var.  et  cet. 

27,  28.    hands,,...,fear.']  Cap.  .Steev.  29.    did  say\  om.  Steev.  conj. 

23.  That]  Abbott.  See  note  on  I,  ii,  59. 

24.  prayers]  Abbott  (}  479).  Pronounced  as  two  syllables.  Even  where 
'  prayer '  presents  the  appearance  of  a  monosyllable,  the  second  syllable  was  prob- 
ably slightly  sounded. 

25.  together]  Delius.  A  derisive  conclusion  of  the  Lady's  to  Macbeth's  last 
words,  in  effect :  if  they  addressed  themselves  again  to  sleep,  then  in  that  chamber 
there  are  two  prostrate  together.     *  Lodge  *  in  the  sense  of  prostrate  occurs  again  in 

IV.  i,  55. 

[BoDENSTEDT  (ad  loc.  Zu  zweCn  am  boden)  stumbles  as  strangely  as  Delius  in 
this  passage :  '  This  is  of  course  spoken  derisively  by  Lady  M.,  in  order  to  roar  the 
effect  of  her  husband's  pathetic  description.'     Ed.] 

27.  As]  Abbott.  See  note  on  I,  iv,  11. 

hangman's]  Dyce  (Gioss.).  Executioner.     See  Mer.  of  Ven.,  IV,  i,  125. 

28.  Listening]  Steevens.  The  particle  is  omitted.  Thus  Jul.  Caes.,  IV,  i,  41, 
Again,  Lyly's  Maid^s  Metamorphosis,  i6oo:  «The  Graces  sit,  listening  the  melody 
Of  warbling  birds.' 

Lettsom.  I  agree  with  Rowe,  Capell,  Walker,  and  Grant  White,  that  this  should 
be  taken  with  what  goes  before. 

Bailey  (ii,  26).  Surely  this  ought  to  be  *  listening  ^€\x prayer^  To  talk  of  say- 
ing Amen  to  a  fear  is  preposterous.  The  error  was  easy  whether  by  the  ear  or  the 
sight.     *  Prayer '  was  often  spelt  praier* 

Abbott  (J  199).  The  preposition  is  sometimes  omitted  before  the  thing  heard, 
after  verbs  of  hearing.  See  Much  Ado,  III,  i,  12;  Lear,  V,  iii,  181 ;  Jul.  Caes.,  V, 
V,  15;  Ham.,  I,  iii,  30.     In  the  passive.  Rich.  II :  II,  i,  9. 

31.  wherefore,  &c.]  Bodenstedt.  This  is  one  of  those  traits  in  which  Macbeth's 
egotistic  hypocrisy  is  most  clearly  displayed.  He  speaks  as  if  murder  and  praying 
could  join  hand  and  hand  in  friendly  companionship,  and  is  astonished  that  he  could 
not  say  <  Amen '  when  the  grooms,  betrayed  and  menaced  by  himself,  appealed  to 
Heaven  for  protection. 

9* 


I02  MACBETH.  [act  ii,  sc.  ii. 

I  had  most  need  of  blessing,  and  *  Amen  ' 
Stuck  in  my  throat. 

Lady  M,    These  deeds  must  not  be  thought 
After  these  ways ;  so,  it  will  make  us  mad. 

Macb,     Methought  I  heard  a  voice  cry  *  Sleep  no  more !       35 

32,  33.  I...throat\  Pope.  One  line,  35,  36.  «  SUep„Meep  *]  As  a  quota- 
Ff.  tion,  Johns.    Cull.   Huds.   Dyce,    Sta. 

33,  34.     These ways  ;'\    Ff.      One  White,  Glo.  Ktly,  Knt  ii,  tarn.  Cla. 

line,  Rowe.  35-40*     *  Sleep,,,. feast']    As  a  quota- 

33.  thought']  thought  on  Han.  Cap.  tion,  Han.  Cap.  Steev.  Rann,  Mai.  Var. 
Ktly.  Sing.  Knt  i. 

33.  thought]  Keightley.  [Hanmer's  addition]  is  not  absolutely  necessary,  but 
it  makes  the  language  more  forcible  and  more  idiomatic. 

Clarendon.  Perhaps  Hanmer's  reading  is  right. 

34.  mad]  Coleridge  (i,  248).  Now  that  the  deed  is  done,  or  doing — now  that 
the  first  reality  commences,  Lady  Macbeth  shrinks;  The  most  simple  sound  strikes 
terror,  the  most  natural  consequences  are  horrible,  whilst  previously  everything,  how- 
ever awful,  appeared  a  mere  trifle ;  conscience,  which  before  had  been  hidden  to 
Macbeth  in  selfish  and  prudential  fears,  now  rushes  in  upon  him  in  her  own  veritable 
person.  And  see  the  novelty  given  to  the  most  familiar  images  by  a  new  state  of 
feeling. 

35.  Sleep  no  more]  Fletcher  (p.  123).  These  brief  words  involve  the  whole 
history  of  Macbeth*s  subsequent  career. 

35»  36-  *  Sleep.. .sleep']  Hunter.  To  me  it  appears  that  the  airy  voice  said  no  more 
than  this.  What  follows  is  a  command  of  his  own.  The  voice  had  first  presented 
sleep  in  a  prosopopoeia.  It  was  a  cherub,  one  of  the  '  young  and  rosy  cherubim ' 
of  heaven.  Macbeth  invests  it  with  its  proper  attributes,  and  would  have  gone  on 
expatiating  on  its  gentle  and  valuable  qualities,  but  Lady  M.  interrupts  him,  and 
asks  with  unaffected  surprise,  *  What  do  you  mean  ?'  He  proceeds  in  the  same  dis- 
tempered strain,  not  so  much  answering  her  question,  as  continuing  to  give  expres- 
sion to  the  feeling  of  horror  at  the  thought  which  had  fixed  itself  in  his  mind,  that 
he  had  committed  a  defeat  on  the  useful  and  innocent  Sleep ;  and  he  repeats  what 
the  voice  appeared  to  him  to  have  said,  with  the  additional  circumstance  that  the 
voice  seemed  to  pervade  the  apartments  of  his  spacious  castle,  like  the  limbs  of  the 
great  giant  which  lay  in  the  Castle  of  Otranto,  and  that  it  would  enter  other  ears 
than  his,  and  lead  to  the  discovery  of  his  crime.  And  he  comes  at  length  to  the 
horrible  conviction  that  a  punishment  which  bore  relation  to  the  nature  of  his  offence 
would  soon  fall  upon  him  [lines  42,  43].  In  this  scene  we  have,  j>erhaps,  as  highly 
wrought  a  tragical  effect  as  is  to  be  found  in  the  whole  range  of  the  ancient  or 
modem  drama. 

35-43.  BucKNiLL  (p.  20).  This  passage  is  scarcely  to  be  accepted  as  another  in- 
stance of  hallucination.  It  is  rather  an  instance  of  merely  excited  imagination 
without  sensual  representation,  like  the  'suggestion*  in  I,  iii,  134.  The  word  'me- 
thought *  is  sufficient  to  distinguish  this  voice  of  the  fancy  from  an  hallucination  of 
sense.  The  lengthened  reasoning  of  the  fancied  speech  is  also  unlike  an  hallucina- 
tion of  hearing;  real  hallucinations  of  hearing  being  almost  always  restricted  to 
two  or  three  words,  or  at  furthest,  to  brief  sentences. 


ACT  n,  sc.  n.]  MACBETH.  103 

Macbeth  does  murder  sleep ' — ^the  innocent  sleep,  36 

Sleep  that  knits  up  the  ravell'd  sleave  of  care, 
The  death  of  each  day's  life,  sore  labour's  bath, 
Balm  of  hurt  minds,  great  nature's  second  course, 

36.  does\  doth  Rowe  U,  + .  +  Cap. 

37.  In  margin,  Pope,  Han.  38.     death'\  breath  Becket. 
knits^  rips  Dav.  Iife\  grief  Jenn.  conj. 
sleave]  Seward,    sleeve  Ff,  Rowe, 

37.  ravcird]  M.  Mason.  Entangled.  So  in  Two  Gent,  of  Ver.,  Ill,  ii,  52. 
sleave]  Heath  (Revisal^  &c.,  p.  387),  Seward  in  his  notes  on  Fletcher's  Two 

Noble  Kinsmen,  vol.  x,  p.  60,  very  ingeniously  conjectures  that  the  genuine  word 
was  sleave,  which  it  seems  signifies  the  ravelled,  knotty,  gouty  parts  of  the  silk,  which 
give  great  trouble  and  embarrassment  to  the  knitter  or  weaver. 

Malone.  This  appears  to  have  signified  coarse,  soft,  unwrought  silk.  Seta  grosso- 
lana,  Ital.  See  also  Florio's  Ital.  Diet.,  1598:  *  Sfilazza,^  Any  kind  of  ravelled 
stuffe,  or  sleave  silk,'' — *  Capiione,  a  kind  of  coarse  silk,  called  sleave  silke,^  Cot- 
grave,  1 61 2,  renders  soye  Jlosche,  *  s\e^.\e  silk.* — *Crt//arf^,  pour  faire  capiton.  The 
tow  or  coarsest  part  of  silke,  whereof  sleave  is  made.'     See  Tro,   and  Cres.,  V,  i,  35. 

Singer.  Sometimes  called  Jloss  silk.  It  appears  to  be  the  coarse  ravelled  part 
separated  by  passing  through  the  slaie  (reed  comb)  of  the  weaver's  loom ;  and  hence 
called  sleaved  or  sleided  silk.  I  suspect  that  sleeveless,  which  has  puzzled  etymolo- 
gists, is  that  which  cannot  be  sleaved,  sleided,  or  unravelled ;  and  therefore  useless : 
thus  a  sleeveless  errand  would  be  2i  fruitless  one, 

Elwin.  That  is,  the  unwoven  sleeve.  The  image  presented  is.  The  much-used 
sleeve  of  Want,  worn  into  loose  threads,  through  the  need  of  the  owner  and  the 
neglect  of  a  painfully  occupied  mind. 

White.  Poole's  English  Parnassus,  1657,  affords  the  best  explanation  of  this 
word  in  giving  *  braided,  dangling,  sleavy,  silken,'  as  epithets  proper  to  be  applied 
to  hair. 

Clarendon.  Florio  has  « Bauella,  any  kind  of  sleaue  or  raw  silke,*  and  *  Bauel- 
lare :  to  rauell  as  raw  silke.'  Compare  Tro.  and  Cres.,  V,  i,  35,  where  the  Quarto 
has  *  sleive '  and  the  Folio  *  sleyd.*  Wedgwood  says  that  it  is  doubtful  *  whether  the 
radical  meaning  of  the  word  is  "  ravelled,  tangled,"  or  whether  it  signifies  that  which 
has  to  be  unravelled  or  separated;  from   Anglosaxon  slifan,  to  cleave  or  split.' 

38.  death]  Warburton.  I  make  no  question  but  Sh.  wrote — *  The  birth  of  each 
day's,*  &c.  The  true  characteristic  of  sleep,  which  repairs  the  decays  of  labour,  and 
assists  that  returning  vigour  which  supplies  the  next  day's  activity. 

White.  Warburton,  though  a  clergyman,  forgot,  what  Sh.  did  not  forget,  that  in 
death  the  wicked  cease  from  troubling  and  the  weary  are  at  rest. 

Capell  {Notes,  p.  12)  says  that  a  poem  by  John  Wolfe,  called  St,  Peter's  Com- 
plaint, 1595,  *  begat  this  speech,'  and  gives  the  extract  in  his  School  of  Sh,,  p.  73 : 

'  Sleepe,  deathes  allye :  oblivion  of  tears : 

Silence  of  passions :  balme  of  angrie  sore : 
Suspense  of  loves :  securitie  of  fears : 
Wrathes  lenitive :  heartes  ease :  stonnes  calmest  shore.' 

39.  course]  Theobald  (Nichols's  Jllust,  of  Lit,  Hist.,  ii,  522).  I  am  so  little 
versed  in  the  nature  of  regular  entertainments  that  I  do  net  know  whether  the  second 


I04  MA  CBETff.  [act  ii.  sc.  u 

Chief  nourisher  in  life's  feast, — 

Lady  M.  What  do  you  mean  ?  40 

Macb.    Still  it  cried  *  Sleep  no  more !'  to  all  the  house : 
*  Glamis  hath  murder'd  sleep,  and  therefore  Cawdor 
Shall  sleep  no  more :  Macbeth  shall  sleep  no  more.' 

iMdy  M.     Who  was  it  that  thus  cried  ?     Why,  worthy  thane. 
You  do  unbend  your  noble  strength,  to  think  45 

So  brainsickly  of  things.     Go  get  some  water. 
And  wash  this  filthy  witness  from  your  hand. 
Why  did  you  bring  these  daggers  from  the  place  ? 
They  must  lie  there :  go  carry  them,  and  smear 
The  sleepy  grooms  with  blood. 

Macb.  rU  go  no  more :  50 

40.  feast, — ]  Dyce.   feast. —  Theob.  42.     Glamis"]  For  Glamis  Seymour. 
Warb.  Johns,    feast,  Ff,  Rowe,  Pope,  *  Glamis.,  jleep  *]  As  a  quotation, 
Han.  Knt.                                                       Jphns. 

41.  ^  Sleep more^]  As  a  quotation  42,43.  *  Glamis. ..more*]  As  a  quo- 
first  by  Han.                                                    tation  first  by  Han.     No  quotation,  Del. 

course  is  always  replenbhed  with  the  most  nourishing  dishes ;  but  I  rather  think, 
feast  following,  made  our  £dd.  serve  up  this  second  course,     I  think  it  should  be : 

* second  source — *  1.  e.,  we  seem  dead  in  sleep;  and  by  its  refreshments,  Nature, 

as  it  were,  wakes  to  a  second  life.  [As  this  conjecture  is  not  in  Theobald's  edition, 
it  may  be  considered  as  withdrawn.  Ed.] 

40.  nourisher]  Steevens.  So,  in  Chaucer's  Squire's  Tale  (Can.  Tales,  10661), 
*  The  nonce  of  digestion,  the  sleep.' 

Abbott.  See  I,  v,  46,  and  note  on  I,  iii,  139. 

RUSHTON  {^Sh,  Illustrated  by  Old  Authors,  i,  9).  Compare: 

'  Somne,  quies  renim,  plactdisslme  Somne  Deorum, 
Pax  antmt,  quem  cura  fugit,  cut  corda  diumis 
Fessa  mtnisteriis  mulces,  reparasque  labori.' — Ovid  Met.  ^  xi,  633. 

42.  BoswELL.  Glamis  hcUh  murdered  sleep ;  and  therefore  my  lately  acquired 
dignity  can  afford  no  comfort  to  one  who  suffers  the  agony  of  remorse, — Cawdor 
shall  sleep  no  more :  nothing  can  restore  to  me  that  peace  of  mind  which  I  enjoyed 
in  a  comparatively  humble  state ;  the  once  honorable  and  innocent  Macbeth  shall 
sleep  no  more, 

Elwin.  Having,  under  one  designation,  murdered  sleep,  it  exists  no  more  for  him 
under  any  title  or  name  he  can  assume.  In  line  36  <  Macbeth  does  murder  sleep,' 
that  is,  converts  it  into  death. 

White.  These  two  lines,  unless  their  detailing  of  Macbeth's  titles  is  the  utterance 
of  his  distempered  fancy,  sink  into  a  mere  conceit  unworthy  of  the  situation. 

Clarendon.  As  the  *  voice '  itself  is  after  all  but  the  cry  of  conscience,  it  is  not 
easy  to  separate  it  from  Macbeth's  comment. 

46.  water]  Clarendon.  These  words  recur  to  Lady  M.  when  she  walks  in  her 
sleep:  V,  i,  57. 


ACT  II,  sc.  ii.]  MACBETH.  lOS 

I  am  afraid  to  think  what  I  have  done ; 
Look  on't  again  I  dare  not. 

Lxidy  M.  Infirm  of  purpose ! 

Give  me  the  daggers :  the  sleeping  and  the  dead 
Are  but  as  pictures :  'tis  the  eye  of  childhood 
That  fears  a  painted  devil.     If  he  do  bleed,  55 

ril  gild  the  faces  of  the  grooms  withal, 
For  it  must  seem  their  guilt.  [Exit,     Knocking  within. 

Macb,  Whence  is  that  knocking  ? 

How  is't  with  me,  when  every  noise  appals  me  ? 
What  hands  are  here  ?  ha !  they  pluck  out  mine  eyes ! 
Will  all  great  Neptune's  ocean  wash  this  blood  60 

51.     what\  on  what  YJ\y .  57.     knocking?^  knocking?     [Start- 

55.  do'\  om.  Pope,  Han.  ing.  Rowe,4-. 

56.  gild^  guild  Y^,    guildeY^,  58.     wV]  w  fir  Theob.  ii,  Warb.  Johns. 

57.  [Knocking...]  Cap.     Knocke...  60.     wash'\  was  Rowe  i. 
Ff.     Knocks...  Roweii,  +  . 

55.  fears]  Delius.  Since  Sh.  uses  this  word  not  only  in  the  sense  of  to/ear^  but 
also  to  affright,  the  phrase  *  a  painted  devil '  may  be  taken  either  as  the  object  or  the 
subject  of  the  relative  clause.     The  latter  seenis  the  more  poetic. 

painted  devil]  Steevens.  So  in  Vittoria  Corombona,  161 2  [Webster,  The  White 
Devil,  p.  22,  ed.  Dyce,  1857. — Clarendon]  :  'Terrify  babes,  my  lord,  with  painted 
devils.* 

Whiter  (p.  180,  note).  This  is  taken  from  the  scenery  or  properties  of  the  stage. 
Compare  from  Fuimus  Troes :  *  Then  let  War  ope  his  jaws  as  wide,  as  Hell,  To 
fright  young  babes* 

56.  gild]  Nares.  Though  there  is  no  real  resemblance  between  the  colour  of 
blood  and  that  of  gold,  it  is  certain  that  to  gild  with  blood  was  an  expression  not 
uncommon  in  the  X  Vlth  century ;  and  other  phrases  are  found  which  have  reference 
to  the  same  comparison.  At  this  we  shall  not  be  surprised,  if  we  recollect  that  gold 
was  popularly  and  very  generally  styled  red.  So  we  have  *  golden  blood,*  II,  iii, 
109.  So  in  King  John,  II,  i,  316.  Gilt  or  gilded  yras  also  a  current  expression  for 
drink,  as  in  Temp.,  V,  i,  280. 

57.  guilt]  Steevens.  This  quibble  is  also  found  in  2  Hen.  IV:  IV,  v,  129,  and 
in  Hen.  V :  II,  chorus,  26. 

Elwin.  This  double  reference  serves  to  exhibit  most  forcibly,  in  the  ferocious 
levity  of  the  expression,  the  strained  and  sanguinary  excitement  of  Lady  M.'s  mind, 
under  the  twofold  influence  of  recent  drink  and  recent  crime. 

Abbott.  Compare  V,  viii,  48. 

Clarendon.  By  making  Lady  M.  jest,  the  author  doubtless  intended  to  enhance 
the  horror  of  the  scene.  A  play  of  fancy  here  is  like  a  gleam  of  ghastly  sunshine 
striking  across  a  stormy  landscape,  as  in  some  pictures  of  Ruysdael. 

57.  knocking]  See  De  Quincev  in  Appendix,  p.  437.     Ed. 

60.  Neptune's]  Upton  (p.  48,  note).  Compare 

OZ/buu  yap  ovi^  aw  'lorpor  oirrc  ^atriv  &r 

Ni^ai  Kc^apfiM  r)|r0«  ri}r  vriyT^v. — Sophoc.  Oedi/.  7)tr.,  1 197-8. 


I06  MACBETH.  [act  ii.  sa  il 

Clean  from  my  hand  ?     No ;  this  my  hand  will  rather 
The  multitudinous  seas  incarnadine, 

6i.     hand? tny  hand^  hands? 62.     seas^searV^,     j^a  Rowe,  +  . 

handYi.  Rowe.  ituamadini]  Rowe,+f  Cap.  Sta. 

62.     Put  in  margin  by  Pope,  Han.  White,  Del.  Glo.  Cam.  Cla.     incarnar^ 

reading  Thy  for  Th^.  dine  Ff,  Dav.  Theob.  ii,  Warb.  Johns. 

The]  Thy  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  et  cet. 

Steevens. 

'  Suscipit,  o  Gdll,  ({uantum  non  ultinui  Tethys, 

Non  genltor  Nympharum  abluat  Oceanus/ — Catullus,  Ixxxviii,  5-6  (in  G«llium). 
'  Quis  duet  roe  Tanais  ?  aut  quae  barbaria 
MsBotis  undis  Pontico  incumbens  mari  f 
Non  ipse  toto  magnus  Occano  pater 
Tantum  expiarit  sceleris  1' — Seneca,  HiJ>/ol.  ii,  7x5-7x8. 

Again,  in  one  of  Hall's  Satires :  '  If  Trent  or  Thames,'  &c. 
Holt  White. 

'  Non,  li  Neptuni  fluctu  renorare  operam  des ; 
Non,  mare  si  totum  veltt  eluere  omnibus  undis.' — Lucret.,  1.  vi,  X076. 

Malone.  So,  in  The  Insatiate  Countess,  by  Marston,  1 61 3: 

'  Although  the  waves  of  all  the  northern  sea 
Should  flow  for  ever  throtigh  these  guilty  hands. 
Yet  the  sanguinolent  stain  would  extant  be.' 

61.  this  my  hand]  Harry  Rowe.  There  is  something  very  beautiful  in  Mac- 
beth's  sudden  transition  from  both  hands  to  the  right  hand  that  had  done  the  bloody 
deed. 

62.  multitudinous]  Malone.  Perhaps  Sh.  meant,  not  the  seas  of  every  denomi- 
nation, nor  the  many-coloured  seas,  but  the  seas  which  swarm  with  myriads  of  in* 
habitants.  If,  however,  this  allusion  be  not  intended,  I  believe,  by  the  *  multitudi- 
nous seas '  was  meant,  not  the  many-waved  ocean,  but  '  the  countless  masses  of 
waters  wherever  dispersed  on  the  surface  of  the  globe,'  the  *  multitude  of  seas '  as 
Heywood  has  it ;  and  indeed  it  must  be  owned  that  the  plural,  seas,  seems  to  coun- 
tenance such  a  supposition. 

Steevens.  I  believe  that  Sh.  referred  to  some  visible  quality  in  the  ocean,  rather 
than  to  its  concealed  inhabitants ;  to  the  waters  that  might  admit  of  some  discolora- 
tion, and  not  to  the  fishes,  whose  hue  could  suffer  no  change  from  the  tinct  of  blood. 
Waves  appearing  over  waves  are  no  inapt  symbol  of  a  crowd.  If  therefore  Sh.  does 
not  mean  the  aggregate  of  seas,  he  must  be  understood  to  design  the  *  multitude  of 
waves.' 

incarnadine]  Steevens.  Camadine  is  the  old  term  for  carnation, 

Wakefield.  Thus  in  Carew's  Obsequies  to  the  Lady  Anne  Hay :  * a  fourth, 

incarnadine.  Thy  rosy  cheek.'     [Carew  very  likely  had  this  passage  in  his  mind. — 
Clarendon.] 

Hunter.  This  word  is  found  in  Sylvester.  Describing  the  phoenix,  he  says: 
'  Her  wings  and  train  of  feathers  mixed  fine  Of  orient  azure  and  incarnadine.' 

[This  word  is  also  found  in  An  Antidote  against  Melancholy,  1 66 1,  where  it  ap 
pears  as  the  name  of  a  red  wine  in  <  A  Song  of  Cupid  Scorn'd :' 

'  In  love  ?  'tis  true  with  Spanish  wine. 
Or  the  French  juice,  Incamadme* 


ACT  II,  sa  u.]  MA  CBETH.  1 07 

Making  the  green  one  red. 

63.     Making]  Make  Pope,  Han.  ocean  red  Pope,  Han,   green^  One  red-^ 

green  one  red]   Green  one  Red  Johns,    green — one  red  Murphy  conj. 

F^,  Dav.    Greene  one.  Red  F^F^F^.  Mai.  Steev.  Rann,  Sing.  Knt,  Sta.  Huds. 
H.  Rowe,  Var.    Coll.   i,   Hal.     Green 

Attention  is  called  to  it  in  this  place  by  Mr  Collier  in  his  valuable  reprint  of  the 
above  volume.     Ed.] 

63.  green  one  red]  Steevens.  The  same  thought  occurs  in  Heywood's  Downfal 
of  Robert,  Earl  of  Huntington,  1 601 :  *  He  made  the  green  sea  red  with  Turkish 
blood.'     Again :  *  The  multitudes  of  seas  died  red  with  blood.* 

Malone.  So  also  in  The  Two  Noble  Kinsmen,  by  Fletcher,  1634:  *  Thou  mighty 
one  that  with  thy  power  hast  turned  Green  Neptune  into  purple,^ 

Murphy.  Garrick  was  for  some  time  in  the  habit  of  saying:  the  green-one  red; 
but,  upon  consideration,  he  adopted  the  alteration  which  was  first  proposed  by  this 
writer  in  the  Grays  Inn  yournal, 

Malone.  Every  part  of  the  line,  as  punctuated  by  Murphy,  appears  to  me  ex- 
ceptionable. One  red  does  not  sound  to  my  ear  as  the  phraseology  of  the  age  of 
Elizabeth ;  and  the  green,  for  the  green  one,  or  for  the  green  sea,  is,  I  am  persuaded, 
unexampled. 

Steevens.  If  Murphy's  punctuation  be  dismissed,  we  must  correct  the  foregoing 
line,  and  read :  *  The  multitudinous  sea '/  for  how  will  the  plural,  seas,  accord  with 
the — *  green  one  ?*  Besides,  the  new  punctuation  is  countenanced  by  a  passage  in 
Hamlet,  II,  ii,  479 :  *  Now  is  he  total  gules*  Again  in  Milton's  Comus,  133 :  *  And 
makes  one  blot  of  all  the  air.* 

Nares.  Sh.  surely  meant  only  '  making  the  green  sea  red.*  The  other  interpreta- 
tion, which  implies  its  making  '  the  green  [sea]  one  entire  red,*  seems  to  me  ridicu- 
lously harsh,  and  forced.  The  pimctuation  of  the  Ff  supports  the  more  natural  con- 
struction. 

Collier  (ed.  i).  Although  the  old  pointing  can  be  no  rule,  it  may  be  some  guide, 
and  we  therefore  revert  to  what  we  consider  the  natural,  and  what  was  probably  the 
ancient,  mode  of  delivering  the  words. 

Elwin.  The  imagination  of  Macbeth  dwells  upon  the  conversion  of  the  universal 
green  into  one  pervading  red. 

Collier  (ed.  2).  The  (MS)  strikes  out  the  comma  after  *  one.'  In  the  same 
way  in  B.  and  F.*s  Maid  of  the  Mill  (ed.  Dyce  ix,  280)  Otrante  ought  to  say :  *  How 
I  freeze  together.  And  am  one  ice;*  but  all  edd.,  including  the  last,  have  allowed  the 
last  hemistich  to  remain,  *  And  am  on  ice,*  as  if  Otrante  had  meant,  not  that  he 
freezed  together  and  was  <  one  ice,*  but  merely  that  he  stood  upon  ice. 

Dyce  {Strictures,  &c.,  p.  182).  Here  Collier  proposes  a  highly  probable  correc- 
tion :  but  let  me  say  in  excuse  of  the  edd.  of  B.  and  F.,  that  they  supposed  '  on  ice*  - 
might  be  a  similar  expression  to  '  on  fire.* 

Bailey  (ii,  27).  A  discrepancy  is  obvious  between  'ocean,*  and  the  plural  'seas,' 
and  the  '  one.*  I  suggest  that '  seas  *  be  exchanged  for  waves,  since  the  epithet  mul' 
titudinous  refers  to  the  billows,  and  not  to  the  parts  of  the  ocean  which  have  re- 
ceived separate  names,  and  that  the  numeral '  one  *  be  replaced  by  sea.  But  the 
objection  that  waves  could  not  be  easily  converted  into  seas,  nor  sea  into  one,  is 
strong,  and  leaves  my  emendation  doubtful. 


I08  MACBETH.  [act  ii,  sc.  ii. 

Re-enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

Lady  M.     My  hands  are  of  your  colour,  but  I  shame 
To   wear  a  heart    so   white.      [Knocking  within,"]      I    hear   a 

knocking  65 

At  the  south  entry :  retire  we  to  our  chamber : 
A  little  water  clears  us  of  this  deed : 
How  easy  is  it  then !     Your  constancy 
Hath  left  you   unattended.     [Knocking  within.']     Hark  I   more 

knocking : 
Get  on  your  nightgown,  lest  occasion  call  us  70 

Re-enter,,.,]  Cap.     Enter  Lady        65-69.     Pope.     Seven  lines,  ending 

Ff,  white,,.. entry:, .  ..chamber:. . .  .deed. .  ..con- 

65,  69,  73.      [Knocking....]    Dyce.  siancie... unattended... knocking,  in  Ff. 
Knocke.  Ff.     Knocking  without.  Sta. 

White  (Sh,^s  Scholar,  p.  401).  Was  the  power  of  mere  punctuation  [in  the  Folio] 
to  turn  the  sublime  into  the  ridiculous  ever  before  so  strikingly  exemplified !  [*  Very 
true '  is  Lettsom's  marginal  comment  on  the  foregoing  in  the  present  Editor's  copy 
of  the  volume.     Ed.] 

Clarendon.  Converting  the  green  into  one  uniform  red.  The  comma  after  '  one ' 
yields  a  tame,  not  to  say  ludicrous,  sense. 

Abbott  ({  511).  See  note  I,  ii,  20. 

Staunton  i^The  Athenaum,  19  Oct,,  1872).  Editors  appear  unsuspicious  of  any 
error  in  this  line.  But  is  it  believable  that  our  *  star  of  poets '  would  have  marred  a 
passage  of  such  grandeur  by  so  lame  and  impotent  a  conclusion  ?  I  feel  instinctively 
that  the  line  has  been  corrupted.  I  wish  I  could  feel  as  confidently  that  the  con- 
jecture I  venture  to  submit  would  restore  it  to  us  as  it  came  from  him.  My  surmise 
is  that  the  error  here  sprang  from  the  very  simple  but  very  fertile  source  of  typo- 
graphical perplexities, — a  dropped  letter,  and  that  the  passage  originally  read: 
*  Making  the  green  zone  red !'  The  change  is  of  the  slightest,  and  an  easy  one  to 
happen  when  one  was  commonly  pronounced  as  it  now  is  in  atone,  alone,  &c.  Ap- 
pended are  a  few  passages  to  show  that  the  similitude  of  the  sea  and  a  belt  or  girdle 
^as  a  familiar  one  to  Sh. :  Cymb.,  Ill,  i,  19,  20;  lb..  Ill,  i,  81 ;  Ant.  and  Clec, 
II,  vii,  74;  Tit.  And.,  Ill,  i,  94;  King  John,  V,  ii,  34;  Rich.  II:  II,  i,  61,  63; 
3  Hen.  VI :  IV,  viii,  20. 

65.  so  white]  TsCHiscHWiTZ  (p.  19).  Eleganter  igitur  Shaksperus  ab  omnium 
consuetudine  discedit,  ubi  adiectiva  cum  adverbiis  *too'  et  *so'  coniuncta  (qure 
alias  ante  substantiva  solent  poni)  post  substantiva  collocate  Dicunt  enim  Angli  *  so 
true  a  friend,'  contra  autem  Shaksperus  interdum  *  a  friend  so  true.' 

65.  white]  Clarendon.  Compare  IV,  i,  85,  'pale-hearted  fear.* 

69.  unattended]  Singer.  Your  courage  has  deserted  you. 

Clarendon.  Your  constancy  {i.e.  firmness),  which  used  to  attend  you,  has  left 
you. 

70.  nightgown]  White.  In  Macbeth's  time,  and  for  centuries  later,  it  was  the 
custom  for  both  sexes  to  sleep  without  any  other  covering  than  that  belonging  to 
the  bed  when  a  bed  was  occupied.     But  of  this  Sh.  knew  nothing,  and  if  he  had 


ACT  II,  sc.  iii.]  MACBETH.  IO9 

And  show  us  to  be  watchers :  be  not  lost  7 1 

So  poorly  in  your  thoughts. 

Macb,    To  know  my  deed,  'twere  best  not  know  myself. 

[Knocking  within. 
Wake  Duncan  with  thy  knocking !     I  would  thou  couldst ! 

[Exeunt 


Scene  III.     The  same. 

Enter  a  Porter.     Knocking  within. 

Porter.     Here's  a  knocking  indeed!     If  a  man  were  porter 

73,  74.     Pope.     Four  lines  Ff.  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  Cap.     Ay^  ''would 

73.  To  know'\  T*  unknow  Han.  Steev.  Sing,  ii,  Sta. 
[Knocking...]  om.  Pope,  +.  Scene  hi.]  om.  Rowe,  Theob.  Dyce, 

74.  Wake,.Jhy'\  IVake  Duncan  Tvith  White.  Scene  I  v.  Pope, +.  Scene  11. 
this  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.    IVake,  Duncan,        Sta. 

with  this  Theob.  +,  Cap.  H.  Rowe.  The  same.]  Cap. 

/  would^   would   Pope,    Han.  ^-37*     ^^  ^be  margin.  Pope,  Han. 

wouldst    in    Pope's    margin.      *  would,  1-18.     om.  Coll.  (MS). 

known,  he  would,  of  course,  have  disregarded  it.  Macbeth*s  night-gown,  that  worn 
by  Julius  Oesar  (H,  ii),  and  by  the  Ghost  in  the  old  Hamlet  (HI,  iv),  answered  to 
our  robes  de  chambre,  and  were  not,  as  I  have  found  many  intelligent  people  to  sup- 
pose, the  garments  worn  in  bed.     [See  V,  i,  4  and  note.  Ed.] 

73.  To  know]  Warburton.  While  I  have  the  thoughts  of  this  deed,  it  were 
best  not  know,  or  be  lost  to,  myself.     This  is  in  answer  to  the  lady's  reproof. 

Elwin.  With  a  knowledge  of  my  deed,  I  were  better  lost  to  the  knowledge  both 
of  my  nature  and  of  my  existence. 

Abbott  (g  357).  See  note  on  IV,  ii,  69. 

Clarendon.  *  If  I  must  look  my  deed  in  the  face,  it  were  better  for  me  to  lose 
consciousness  altogether.'  An  easier  sense  might  be  arrived  at  by  a  slight  change 
in  punctuation :  *  To  know  my  deed  ?     'Twere  best  not  know  myself.' 

74.  I  would]  Steevens.  The  repentant  exclamation  of  Macbeth  derives  force 
from  the  present  change  [see  textual  notes] ;  a  change  which  has  been  repeatedly 
made  in  spelling  this  ancient  substitute  for  the  word  of  enforcement,  ay,  in  the  very 
play  before  us. 

couldst]  H.  Rowe.  A  mind  under  the  influence  of  contrition  would  surely  call 
upon  Duncan  to  wake  by  the  noise,  rather  than  address  the  person  who  was  knock- 
ing. According  to  my  conception,  such  a  call  would  be  nature  itself;  and,  I  be- 
lieve, would  spontaneously  proceed  from  the  heart  of  every  man  so  circumstanced 
as  Macbeth  then  was.  In  this  manner  I  wish  the  genius  of  Sh.  to  be  tried,  and  not 
by  the  evidence  of  incorrect  old  quartos  and  folios,  ill  printed,  and  worse  revised. 

Scene  iii.]  Capell  (Notes,  p.  13).  Without  this  scene  Macbeth's  dress  cannot  be 
shifted  nor  his  hands  washed.     To  give  a  rational  space  for  the  discharge  of  these 
actions  was  this  scene  thought  of. 
10 


no  MA CBETH.  [act  ii,  sc.  iii. 

of  hell-gate,  he  should  have  old  turning  the  key.     [Knocking 

2, 6,  XI,  14, 18.     [Knocking  within.]  2.     he  should  have  oW]  he  could  not 

Dyce.     Knock.   Ff.     Knocking  with-        have  more  H.  Rowe. 
out.  Sta. 

White.  In  the  Folio  a  new  scene  is  here  indicated,  but  this  division  is  so  clearly 
wrong  that  there  can  be  no  hesitation  in  deviating  from  it.     See  note  on  II,  ii. 

1-37.  Coleridge  (i,  249).  This  low  soliloquy  of  the  Porter,  and  his  few  speeches 
afterwards,  I  believe  to  have  been  written  for  the  mob  by  some  other  hand,  perhaps 
with  Sh.'s  consent ;  and  that,  finding  it  take,  he,  with  the  remaining  ink  of  a  pen 
otherwise  employed,  just  interpolated  the  words  [77/  .  .  .  bonfire,  lines  16-18]. 
Of  the  rest  not  one  syllable  has  the  ever-present  being  of  Sh. 

Clarendon.  Probably  Coleridge  would  not  have  made  even  this  exception  unless 
he  had  remembered  Ham.  I,  iii,  50.  To  us  this  comic  scene,  not  of  a  high  class  of 
comedy  at  best,  seems  strangely  out  of  place  amidst  the  tragic  horrors  which  sur- 
round  it,  and  is  quite  different  in  effect  from  the  comic  passages  which  Sh.  has  intro- 
duced into  other  tragedies. 

Maginn  (p.  170).  The  speech  of  this  porter  is  in  blank  verse.  [The  lines  ending 
man  —  old —  there, — farmer — expectation — enough — knock  / — [/'  ]  faith — swear 
—  \one'\who  — yet —  in, —  there  t  —  hither — tailor. —  quiet. —  hell. —  thought  — pro- 
fessions,—  everlasting  darkness  (sic).  Ed.]  The  alterations  I  propose  are  very 
slight:  upon  for  *on,*  i  faith  for  * 'faith,*  and  the  introduction  of  the  word  one  in  a 
place  where  it  is  required.  The  succeeding  dialogue  is  also  in  blank  verse ;  so  is  the 
sleeping  scene  of  Lady  M. ;  and  that  so  palpably  that  I  wonder  it  could  ever  pass 
for  prose. 

Heraud  (p.  513).  Nothing  more  admirably  fitted  than  this  scene  for  the  purpose 
of  supplying  the  transition  from  one  point  of  effect  to  another  could  be  given ;  and 
any  critical  censure  of  the  poet,  for  what  he  has  here  done,  results  from  ignorance 
of  his  art.     The  true  dramatist  will  estimate  it  at  its  true  worth. 

Clarke.  Nevertheless,  we  cannot  help  thinking  that  there  are  many  grounds  for 
believing  it  to  have  been  not  only  his  composition,  but  his  maturedly  considered 
introduction  at  this  point  of  the  tragedy.  In  the  first  place,  it  ser\'es  to  lengthen 
out  dramatic  time,  and  in  the  second  place,  its  repulsively  coarse  humour  serves 
powerfully  to  contrast,  yet  harmonise,  with  the  crime  that  has  been  perpetrated. 

1-18.  Wordsworth  {Sh.^s  Knowledge  and  Use  of  the  Bible,  1864,  p.  298).  As  I 
do  not  doubt  the  passage  was  written  with  earnestness,  and  with  a  wonderful  know- 
ledge of  human  nature,  especially  as  put  into  the  mouth  of  a  drunken  man,  so  I 
believe  it  may  be  read  with  edification. 

Scene  iii.]  Bodenstedt.  After  all,  his  uncouth  comicality  has  a  tragic  back- 
ground ;  he  never  dreams,  while  imagining  himself  a  porter  of  hell-gate,  of  how 
near  he  comes  to  the  truth.  What  are  all  these  petty  sinners  who  go  the  primrose 
way  to  the  everlasting  bonfire  compared  with  those  great  criminals  whose  gates  he 
guards  ? 

I-18.  Collier  (Notes,  &c.).  In  the  (MS)  these  lines  are  struck  out,  perhaps,  as 
offensive  to  the  Puritans. 

2.  hell-gate]  Delius.  *  Hell-gate,*  like  *  hell,*  is  used  without  the  article,  be- 
cause the  one  single  gate  of  hell  is  implied. 

old]  Steevens.  Frequent,  more  than  enough. 


ACT  n,  sc.  iii.]  MA  CBETH.  1 1 1 

within:]  Knock,  knock,  knock !  Who's  there,  i'  the  name  of 
Beelzebub  ?  Here's  a  farmer,  that  hanged  himself  on  th*  ex- 
pectation of  plenty:  come  in  time;   have  napkins  enow  about 

4.     on^  in  Pope,  Han.  farmer  Anon.  conj. 

4,  5.     Heres,..pletUy\  Italics  Su.  5.     encw\  F,,  Dav    Sing,  ii,  Dyce, 

5.  come  in  time  ;^^   come  in,  time,        Sta.  Glo.  Ktly,  Cam.  Hal.  Qa.     enough 
Dav.     come  in,   Time;  Sta.     come  in,        F,FjF^,  Rowe,  cl  cet. 


Collier.  Hundreds  of  instances  of  its  use  as  a  common  augmentative  in  Sh.'s 
time  might  easily  be  accumulated. 

Dyce  {Gloss.),  I  believe  I  was  the  first  to  remark  that  the  Italians  use  (or  at  least 
formerly  used)  *  vecchio  *  in  the  same  sense. 

'  Perchi  Corante  abbandonava  il  freno, 
E  dette  un  veeehio  colpo  in  sul  terreno.' — Puld,  Morg,  Mag,  C.  xr.  st.  54. 

'  E  io  ch'egli  ebbe  di  vecchit  paure.' — ItU  C.  xix.  it.  30. 

It  is  rather  remarkable  that  Florio  has  not  given  this  meaning  of  *  vecchio.' 

[The  phrase,  *  There  has  been  old  work  to-day,*  for  an  unusual  disturbance,  is 

still  current  among  the  lower  orders  in  Warwickshire,  according  to  Fraser's  Mag. 

1856.  Ed.] 
Abbott  (J  93).  See  note  I,  iv,  8. 

4.  farmer]  Malone.  So  in  Hairs  Satires,  b.  iv.  Sat.  6 : 

*  Ech  Muck-wonne  will  be  rich  with  lawlesse  gaine, 
Altho'  he  smother  vp  mowes  of  seuen  yeares  icraine. 
And  kan^d  kimsttf  when  come  grows  cheap  again* 

Hunter.  There  is  a  story  of  such  an  event  in  the  small  tract  of  Peacham,  enti- 
tled, The  Truth  of  our  Times  revealed  out  of  one  Man^s  Experience,  1 638.  The 
farmer  had  hoarded  hay  when  it  was  five  pounds  ten  shillings  per  load,  and  when  it 
unexpectedly  fell  to  forty  and  thirty  shillings,  he  hung  himself  through  disappoint* 
ment  and  vexation,  but  was  cut  down  by  his  son  before  he  was  quite  dead.  No 
doubt  such  stories  are  of  all  ages. 

5.  come  in  time]  Delius.  YouVe  come  just  at  the  right  time. 

Staunton.  The  edd.  concur  in  printing  this,  •  Come  in  time,*  but  what  meaning 
they  attach  to  it  none  has  yet  explained.  As  we  have  subsequently,  *  Come  in, 
Equivocator,*  and  *  Come  in.  Tailor,'  *  Time  *  is  probably  intended  as  a  whimsical 
appellation  for  the  *  farmer  that  hanged  himself.* 

Clarke.  Equivalent  to  Sh.'s  expression,  *  Come  apace,*  and  to  the  phrases,  *  Be  in 
time,  be  in  time !'  or  *  Come  early,  come  early !'  of  the  showmen  at  fairs. 

5.  napkins]  Nares.  A  pocket  handkerchief.  A  very  common  word  which  occuis 
in  many  passages  of  Sh.  Baret,  in  his  Alvearie,  has  napkin,  or  handkerchief,  ren- 
dered accordingly;  and  table  napkin  is  there  a  distinct  article.  A  napkin,  the 
diminutive  of  nappe,  in  its  modem  sense,  was  the  badge  of  office  of  the  maltre  </* 
hdtel,  or,  as  we  should  call  him,  the  butler,  in  great  houses. 

Singer.  In  the  dictionaries  of  the  time  sudarium  is  rendered  by  *  napkin  or  hand' 
kerchief  wherewith  we  itnpe  away  the  sweat. ^ 

Delius.  Handkerchiefs  were  suggested  by  the  idea  that  the  farmer  may  have 
hanged  himself  with  one,  and  appeared  at  the  gate  of  hell  with  it  still  around  his 
neck. 


112  MA  CBETH.  [act  ii,  sc.  iii. 

you;  here  you'll  sweat  for't.  [Knocking  within^  Knock, 
knock !  Who's  there,  in  th'  other  devil's  name  ?  Faith,  here's 
an  equivocator,  that  could  swear  in  both  the  scales  against 
either  scale;  who  committed  treason  enough  for  God's  sake, 
yet  could  not  equivocate  to  heaven :  O,  come  in,  equivocator. 
[Knocking  within^  Knock,  knock,  knock!  Who's  there? 
Faith,  here's  an  English  tailor  come  hither,  for  stealing  out 
of  a  French  hose :  come  in,  tailor ;  here  you  may  roast  your 
goose.  [Knocking  within^  Knock,  knock ;  never  at  quiet ! 
What  are  you  ?  But  this  place  is  too  cold  for  hell.  I'll  devil- 
porter  it  no  further:  I  had  thought  to  have  let  in  some  of 

6.  you' 11"]  you  will  Rann.  Huds.  Dyce,  White,  Glo.  Cla. 

7.  in  M*]    I*   M*   Theob.  ii,  Warb.  7,  10.     Faith,„heaven]  Italics  Sta. 
Johns.   H.  Rowe.     i*   the  Cap.   Steev.  12,  13.     Faiih,„hose'\  Italics  Sta. 
Var.  Sing.  Knt,  Sta.  Ktly.     in  the  Coll. 

8.  equivocator]  Warburton.  Meaning  a  Jesuit.  The  inventors  of  the  execra- 
ble doctrine  of  equivocation. 

Walker  (Cri/.,  iii,  253).  This  allusion  to  the  times  is  certainly  unlike  Sh.     It 
strengthens  Coleridge's  hypothesis  of  the  spuriousness  of  part  of  this  soliloquy. 
See  Appendix,  p.  381.     Ed. 

13.  hose]  Warburton.  The  joke  consists  in  this,  that  a  French  hose  being  very 
short  and  strait,  a  tailor  must  be  master  of  his  trade  who  could  steal  anything  from 
thence. 

Steevens.  Warburton  said  this  at  random.  The  French  hose  (according  to  Stubbs 
in  his  Anatomie  of  Abuses)  were  in  1 595  much  in  fashion:  *The  Gallic  hosen  are 
made  very  large  and  wide,  reaching  down  to  their  knees  only^  with  three  or  foure 
gardes  apeece  laid  down  along  either  hose.^ 

Farmer.  Steevens  forgot  the  uncertainty  of  French  fashions.  In  The  Treasury 
of  Ancient  and  Modem  TimeSy  1613,  we  have  an  account  (from  Guyon,  I  suppose) 
of  the  old  French  dresses :  '•Mens  hose  answered  in  length  to  their  short-skirted 
doublets ;  being  made  close  to  their  limbes^  wherein  they  had  no  means  for  pockets.' 

Clarendon.  Stubbes  in  his  Anatomie  of  Abuses  (fol.  23  b,  ed.  1585)  says:  *  The 
Frenche  hose  are  of  two  diuers  makinges,  for  the  common  Frenche  hose  (as  they 
list  to  call  them)  containeth  length,  breadth,  and  sidenesse  sufficient,  and  is  made 
very  rounde.  The  other  contayneth  neyther  length,  breadth,  nor  sidenesse  (being 
not  past  a  quarter  of  a  yarde  side),  whereof  some  be  paned,  cut,  and  drawen  out 
with  costly  omamentes,  with  Canions  annexed,  reaching  downe  beneath  their  knees.' 
In  The  Mer.  of  Ven.,  I,  ii,  80,  Sh.  clearly  speaks  of  the  larger  kind,  the  *  round 
hose '  which  the  Englishman  borrows  from  France,  and  it  is  enough  to  suppose  that 
the  tailor  merely  followed  the  practice  of  his  trade  without  exhibiting  any  special 
dexterity  in  stealing.  In  Hen.  V :  III,  vii,  56,  the  French  hose  are  wide  by  com- 
parison. 

14.  at  quiet]  Clarendon.  See  Judges,  xviii,  27 :  *  A  people  that  were  at  quiet 
and  secure.'  Compare  *  at  friend,'  Wint.  Tale,  V,  i,  140.  So  in  Ham.,  IV,  iii,  46, 
' at  help*  is  used  with  the  force  of  an  adjective. 


ACT  II,  sc.  iii.]  •  MACBETH.  113 

all  professions,  that  go  the  primrose  way  to  the  everlasting 
bonfire. — [Knocking  wit/uni\  Anon,  anon !  I  pray  you  remem- 
ber the  porter.  [Opens  the  gate. 

Enter  MACDUFF  and  Lknnox. 

Macd,     Was  it  so  late,  friend,  ere  you  went  to  bed,  20 

That  you  do  lie  so  late  ? 

Port.  Faith,  sir,  we  were  carousing  till  the  second  cock :  and 
drink,  sir,  is  a  great  provoker  of  three  things. 

Macd.     What  three  things  does  drink  especially  provoke  ? 

Port.  Marry,  sir,  nose-painting,  sleep,  and  urine.  Lechery, 
sir,  it  provokes  and  unprovokes;  it  provokes  the  desire,  but 
it  takes  away  the  performance:  therefore  much  drink  may  be 
said  to  be  an  equivocator  with  lechery:  it  makes  him  and  it 
mars  him ;  it  sets  him  on  and  it  takes  him  off;  it  persuades  him 
and  disheartens  him ;  makes  him  stand  to  and  not  stand  to ;  in 
conclusion,  equivocates  him  in  a  sleep,  and,  giving  him  the  He, 
leaves  him. 

Macd.     I  believe  drink  gave  thee  the  lie  last  night.  33 

Port.     That   it   did,   sir,   i*   the   very   throat   on    me :   but    I 

17.  to  the\  to  th'  Ff,  Dav.  +  ,  White.  sleep.  H.  RcJwe. 

18.  bonJire'\   Bone-fire  Dav.  30.     to...to'\  too.. .too  F^. 

19.  Opens  the  gate]  Mai.  opens  Qa.^.  31.  in  a  sleep']  into  a  sleep 'Ro^t^'\- . 
om.  Ff,  Rowe,  +  .  into  sleep  Mason,     asleep  Coll.  (MS). 

22, 23.     Prose,  Johns.    Two  lines,  Ff.  34.     on  me]  o*  me  Theob.  ii,  Warb. 

23-37.     of  three  things. ..cast  him.]  of       Johns.  Cap.  Steev.  Var.  Sing.  Knt,  Ktly. 

17.  primrose]  Steevens.  So,  Ham.,  I,  iii,  50,  and  All's  Well,  IV,  v,  56. 

22.  second  cock]  Steevens.  So  in  Lear,  III,  iv,  121.  Again  in  the  Twelfth 
Mery  leste  of  the  Widow  Edith,  1573:  The  time  they  pass  merely  til  ten  of  the 
clok,  Yea,  and  I  shall  not  lye,  till  after  the  first  cok. 

Malone.  About  three  o'clock  in  the  morning.     See  Rom.  &  Jul.,  IV,  iv,  3. 

22,  23.  Delius.  This  reply  of  the  Porter's  falls  into  two  regular  Iambic  trimeters, 
and  is  correctly  so  printed  in  the  Folio. 

23.  provoker]  Harry  Rowe.  I  cannot  set  up  the  morality  of  a  puppet-show- 
man against  the  piety  of  Dr.  Johnson,  but  I  will  venture  to  say,  that  by  shortening 
this  conversation,  I  have  done  the  memory  of  Sh.  no  material  injury.  Too  many 
meretricious  weeds  grow  upon  the  banks  of  Avon. 

31.  in  a  sleep]  Steevens.  Sh.  frequently  uses  in  for  into.  Rich.  Ill :  I,  ii,  261, 
and  lb.,  I,  iii,  89. 

Elwin.  Thus  in  Lyly's  Euphues :  * until  time  might  turn  white  salt  in  fine 

sugar.'  Here  used  in  both  senses :  tricks  him  into  a  sleep ;  and,  tricks  him  in  ? 
sleep,  that  is,  by  a  dream. 

Walker  (Cn't.,  iii,  251).  This  is  not  more  harsh  to  our  ears  than  'smiles  his 
cheek  in  years,*  Love's  Lab.  Lost,  V,  ii,  465. 
10*  H 


1 14  MACBETH.  ^         [act  ii,  sc.  iii. 

requited  him  for  his  lie;  and,  I  think,  being  too  strong  for 
him,  though  he  took  up  my  legs  sometime,  yet  I  made  a  shift  to 
cast  him. 

Macd,     Is  thy  master  stirring  ? 

Enter  Macbeth. 

Our  knocking  has  awaked  him ;  here  he  comes, 
Len,     Good  morrow,  noble  sir. 

Macb,  Good  morrow,  both.  40 

Macd,     Is  the  king  stirring,  worthy  thane  ? 
Macbn  Not  yet 

Macd,     He  did  command  me  to  call  timely  on  him : 

36.  I//]  om.  Warb.  Johns.  40,  Pope,  + ,  Rann.    After  line  39,  Cap. 
38.     Scene     iv.       Enter     Macduff,        Steev.  Var.  Sing.  Knt,  Huds.  Sta.  Ktly. 

]  .^nox,  and  Porter.  Pope,  Han.  Re-enter  M.  Dyce,  after  line  39.    Enter 

Enter  M.]  Coll.    After  line  37        M.  in  his  nightgown.  Coll.  ii  (MS). 
\tL  Ff,  Dav.  Rowe.     After  noble  sir,  line 

33.  night]  Malone.  It  is  not  very  easy  to  ascertain  precisely  the  time  when 
)Juncan  is  murdered.  The  conversation  that  passes  between  Banquo  and  Macbeth, 
in  II,  i,  might  lead  us  to  suppose  that  when  Banquo  retired  to  rest  it  was  not  much 
after  twelve  o'clock.  The  king  was  then  *  abed  ;*  and,  immediately  after  Banquo 
retires,  Lady  M.  strikes  upon  the  bell,  and  Macbeth  commits  the  murder.  In  a  few 
minutes  afterwards  the  knocking  at  the  gate  commences,  and  no  time  can  be  sup- 
posed to  elapse  between  the  second  and  the  third  scene,  because  the  Porter  gets  up 
in  consequence  of  the  knocking :  yet  here  Macduff  talks  of  last  night,  and  says  that 
he  was  commanded  to  call  timely  on  the  king,  and  that  he  fears  he  has  almost  over- 
pass'd  the  hour;  and  the  Porter  tells  him,  *  We  were  carousing  till  the  second  cock ;^ 
so  that  we  must  suppose  it  to  be  now  at  least  six  o'clock ;  for  Macduff  has  already 
expressed  his  surprise  that  the  Porter  should  lie  so  late.  From  Lady  M.'s  words  in 
Act  V,  *  One — two — 'tis  time  to  do't,'  it  should  seem  that  the  murder  was  committed 
at  two  o'clock,  and  that  hour  is  certainly  not  inconsistent  with  the  conversation 
above  referred  to  between  Banquo  and  his  son ;  but  even  that  hour  of  two  will  not 
correspond  with  what  the  Porter  and  Macduff  say  in  the  present  scene.  I  suspect 
Sh.  in  fact  meant  that  the  murder  should  be  supposed  to  be  committed  a  little  before 
daybreak,  which  exactly  corresponds  with  the  speech  of  Macduff  now  before  us, 
though  not  so  well  with  the  other  circumstances  already  mentioned,  or  with  Lady 
M.'s  desiring  her  husband  to  put  on  his  nightgown.  Sh.,  I  believe,  was  led  to  fix 
the  time  of  Duncan's  murder  near  the  break  of  day  by  Holinshed's  account  of  the 

murder  of  King  Duffe :  * he  was  long  in  his  oratorie,  and  there  continued  till 

it  was  late  in  the  flight.^  Donwald's  servants  'enter  the  chamber  where  the  king 
laie,  a  little  before  cocks  crow,  where  they  secretlie  cut  his  throat.' 

37.  cast]  Johnson.  The  equivocation  is  between  cast  or  throw,  as  a  term  of 
wrestling,  and  cast  or  cast  up, 

Steevens.  I  find  a  similar  play  upon  words  in  The  Two  Angry  Women  of  Abing- 

ton,  1599 :  * he  reels  all  that  he  wrought  to-day,  and  he  were  good  now  to  play 

at  dice,  for  he  casts  excellent  well.* 


ACT  n,  sc.  iii.]  MA  CBETH.  1 1 S 

I  have  almost  slipp'd  the  hour. 

Macb,  I'll  bring  you  to  him. 

Macd,     I  know  this  is  a  joyful  trouble  to  you ; 
But  yet  'tis  one.  45 

Macb,     The  labour  we  delight  in  physics  pain. 
This  is  the  door. 

Macd,  I'll  make  so  bold  to  call, 

For  'tis  my  limited  service.  [Exit, 

Lett,     Goes  the  king  hence  to-day  ? 

Macb,  He  does :  he  did  appoint  so. 

Len,    The  night  has  been  unruly :  where  we  lay,  50 

Our  chimneys  were  blown  down,  and,  as  they  say, 
Lamentings  heard  i'  the  air,  strange  screams  of  death, 
And  prophesying,  with  accents  terrible, 

43.     I  have]  Vve  Pope,  +,  Dyce  ii.  49.    He  does:"]  ora.  Pope,  +. 

46.  pAysics']  Pope.  Physicks  F^F,.  5^>-52.  The,..deatk^  Rowe.  Four 
Physick's  F  F^.                                                   lines,  ending  unruly  :..,d(nvne^...ayre.„ 

47.  This]  That  Cap.  (Correction  in         Death,  Ff,  Huds.  i. 

Notes  ii,  10,  b),  Rann.  51.     down,"]  dcnvne,  F^F^F^,  Rowe,  +  . 

47,  48.     riL„service,'\  Verse,  Han.  53.     And  prophesying]  And  prophe- 

Prose,  Ff,  Rowe,  +.  syings  Han.  [Cap. — *  perhaps  rightly.*] 

49.  hence]  From  hence  Steev.  read-  Rann.  Aunts  prophesying  Warb.  conj. 
ing  For„,king  From.„so,  two  lines. 

43.  8lipp*d]  Clarendon.  *  Slip  *  is  used  transitively  with  a  person  for  the  object 
in  Cymb.  IV,  iii,  22. 

44.  trouble]  Delius.  Macduff  refers  to  Macbeth*s  hospitable  reception  of  Dun- 
can, not  to  his  bringing  him  to  Duncan's  chamber.  Of  the  latter  service  they  would 
hardly  speak  with  so  much  emphasis. 

46.  physics]  Steevens.  Affords  a  cordial  to  it.     So,  Wint.  Tale,  I,  i,  43. 
Malone.  So,  Temp.  HI,  i,  i. 

Singer.  Physick  is  defined  by  Baret,  a  remedie,  an  helping  or  curing. 
Clarendon.  The  general  sentiment  here  expressed  is  true,  whether  'pain*  be 

understood  in  its  more  common  sense  of  *  suffering,*  or  as  Macbeth  means  it,  of 

*  trouble.*     Compare  Cymb.  HI,  ii,  34. 

47.  bold  to]  Clarendon.  So  bold  as  to.     Compare  2  Hen.  VI :  IV,  viii,  4. 

48.  limited]  Warburton.  Appointed. 

Steevens.  So  in  Timon,  IV,  iii,  431 :  'For  there  is  boundless  theft  In  limited 
professions,'  1.  e.  professions  to  which  people  are  regularly  and  legally  appointed 
[like  the  church,  the  bar,  and  medicine. — Clarendon]. 

Clarendon.  It  must  be  supposed  that  Macduff  was,  as  we  should  say,  a  Lord  of 
the  Bedchamber.     See  Meas.  for  Meas.  IV,  ii,  176. 

49.  He  does]  Steevens.  Perhaps  Sh.  designed  Macbeth  to  shelter  himself 
under  an  immediate  falsehood  till  a  sudden  recollection  of  guilt  restrained  his  confi* 
dence,  and  unguardedly  disposed  him  to  qualify  his  assertion.  A  similar  trait  oc- 
curred in  I,  V,  58. 

53.  prophesying]  White.   Changes  in  the  punctuation  of  this  passage  have 


o 


1 1 6  MA  CBETH,  [act  ii.  sc.  iii. 

Of  dire  combustion  and  confused  events 

New  hatch'd  to  the  woful  time:  the  obscure  bird  55 

53~55«     And, ., .time :    the\    And,,.,,  Sing.  ii. 
time,  the  Anon.  conj.  Knt,  Huds.  55-57*     New.,„shake,']    Han.     Foui 

54.     comlmstion\  combustions  F^F  F  ,  lines,  ending  time.,.,Night....fevorous..., 

Pope,  Han.  Cap.  shake,  Ff.     Three,  ending  time, ..night. 

54,  55.     events time:    the"]    Dyce.  ...shake.  Rowe,  +,  Knt,  Huds.  i,  Sing. 

events, ...time.     The  Ff.    events,    ,,.time,  ii,  Sta. 

the  Johns,  conj.  55.  obscure"]  obscnre  F,. 

55.  time  :  the]  time.  The  Knt,  Huds. 

been  proposed  from  an  erroneous  supposition  that  to  prophesy  must  mean,*to  foretell. 
But  here,  in  some  parts  of  the  Bible,  and  in  other  books  of  the  Elizabethan  period 
(1575-1625,  Jacobo  I.  non  obstante),  it  means  to  utter  strange  or  important  things, 
to  announce  solemnly.  See  Proverbs  xxxi,  i,  Fzekiel  xxxvii,  4,  7,  and  passim. 
Clarendon,  Here  used  as  a  verbal  noun,  in  its  ordinary  sense  of  *  foretelling.' 
Abbott  (§  470).  Words  in  which  a  light  vowel  is  preceded  by  a  heavy  voweloor 
diphthong  are  frequently  contracted,  as  poioer,  jewel,  doing,  going,  dying,  &c.  Also 
proivess  in  V,  viii,  41.     [See  also  Walker,  Vers.  p.  119,  to  same  effect.  Ed.] 

54.  combustion]  Clarendon.  Used  metaphorically  for  *  social  confusion,*  as  in 
Hen.  VIH:  V,  iv,  51.  Cotgrave  has:  * a  tumult;  hence;  Entrer  en  combus- 
tion avcc.  To  make  a  stirre,  to  raise  an  vprore,  to  keepe  an  old  coyle  against.' 
Raleigh,  in  his  Discourse  of  War  in  General  ( JVorks,  y'm,  2j6,  ed.  1829),  says  : 
*  Nevertheless,  the  Pope's  absolving  of  Richard  .  .  .  from  that  honest  oath  .  .  . 
brought  atl  England  into  an  horrible  combustion.'  And  Milton,  Par.  Lost,  vi,  225, 
uses  the  word  in  the  same  sense. 

55.  New  hatched]  Johnson.  A  prophecy  of  an  event  new  hatched  seems  to  be  a 
prophecy  of  an  event  past.  And  a  prophecy  new  hatched  is  a  wry  expression.  The 
term  new  hatched  is  properly  applicable  to  a  bird,  and  that  birds  of  ill  omen  should 
be  new  hatched  to  the  woful  time,  that  is,  should  appear  in  uncommon  numbers,  is 
very  consistent  with  the  rest  of  the  prodigies  here  mentioned. 

Heath  (p.  388).  Johnson  on  review  would  scarce  approve  of  the  owlet  hooting 
from  the  moment  it  was  hatched,  and  filling  that  whole  night  with  its  clamours. 

Steevens.  Prophesying  b  what  is  new  hatch'' d,  and  in  the  metaphor  holds  the 
place  of  the  egg.     The  events  are  the  fruit  of  such  hatching. 

Malone.  The  following  passage  in  which  the  same  imagery  is  found,  inclines  me 
to  believe  that  our  author  meant,  that  nnv  hatch'd  should  be  referred  to  events, 
though  the  events  were  yet  to  come.  Allowing  for  his  usual  inaccuracy  with  respect 
to  the  active  and  passive  participle,  the  events  may  be  said  to  be  *  the  hatch  and 
brood  of  time.'     See  2  Hen.  IV;  HI,  i,  82: 

'  The  which  observed,  a  man  xciz.y  prophesy. 
With  a  near  aim,  of  the  main  chance  of  things 
As  yet  not  come  to  life,  which  in  their  seeds 
And  weak  beginnings  lie  entreasured. 
Such  things  beccme  the  hatch  and  brood  of  time* 

Here  certainly  it  is  the  thing  or  event,  and  not  the  prophecy,  which  is  the  hatch  of 
time ;  but  it  must  be  acknowledged,  the  word  *  become''  sufficiently  marks  the  future 
time.  If  therefore  the  construction  that  I  have  suggested  be  the  time  one,  hatched 
must  be  here  used  for  hatching,  or  *  in  the  state  of  being  hatched.'' — •  To  the  woful 
lime,'  means — to  suit  the  woful  time. 


ACT  II,  sc.  iii.f  MA  CBETH.  1 1  ^ 

Clamour'd  the  livelong  night :  some  say,  the  earth 
Was  •feverous  and  did  shake. 

Macb,  'Twas  a  rough  night. 

Len,     My  young  remembrance  cannot  parallel 
A  fellow  to  it. 

Re-enter  Macduff. 

Macd,     O  horror,  horror,  horror !     Tongue  nor  heart  60 

Cannot  conceive  nor  name  thee. 
Macb. 


cbA 
^   7 


_  What's  the  matter  ? 

Len, 

Macd.     Confusion  now  hath  made  his  masterpiece. 
Most  sacrilegious  murder  hath  broke  ope 
The  Lord's  anointed  temple,  and  stole  thence 
The  life  o'  the  building. 

Macb,  What  is't  you  say  ^  the  life  ?  65 

59.  Re-enter  M.]  ....hastily.  Cap.  60.     Tongue  nor]  Or  tongue  or  Vo^^ 
60,61.     Tongue thee.]   Cap.     One         Han.     Nor  tongue,  nor  Theoh. -^^ . 

line,  Ff,  Rowe,  +  ,  Knt,  Sta.  65.     building]  buildings  Rowe  i. 

Knight.  We  have  adopted  a  punctuation,  suggested  by  a  friend,  which  connects 
*  the  obscure  bird '  with  *  prophesying.' 

Elwin.  This  is  called  z.  prophesy  of  events  new  hatched,  or  already  in  existence, 
because  the  information  is  conveyed  by  supernatural  means  ;  and  the  events,  though 
bom,  are  as  yet  indistinguishable  to  those  to  whom  this  mystic  intelligence  is  given. 

Clarendon.  The  extract  above  given  from  2  Hen.  IV:-  IH,  i,  82,  shows  that  the 
ordinary  punctuation  is  right.  *  HatchM  to  the  time  *  may  either  be  used  like  *  born 
to  the  time,'  i.  e.,  *  the  time's  brood,'  or  *  hatched  to  suit  the  time,*  as  '  to '  is  used, 
Cor.,  I,  iv,  57. 

55.  obscure]  Walker  {Crit.,  ii,  244).  Read  obscene,  [White  made  the  same 
conjecture,  independently  and  contemporaneously.     Ed.] 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  That  is,  the  bird  that  loves  the  dark. 
See  Abbott  (J  492),  and  I,  vi,  22. 

56.  Clamour'd]  Walker  (Crit.,\,  157).  In  many  places  this  evidently  means 
wailing. 

57.  feverous]  Clarendon.  This  must  be  understood  of  ague-fever,  much  more 
common  in  old  times  than  now  when  England  is  drained. 

57.  parallel]  Clarendon.  We  have  *  paragon '  similarly  used  as  a  verb  in  0th., 
II,  i,  62. 

60.  Tongue]  Delius.  The  omission  of  neither  before  this  word  is  as  common  in 
Sh.  as  the  accumulated  negatives  that  here  follow  it. 

nor.. .cannot]  Steevens.  The  use  of  thestwo  negatives,  not  to  make  an  affirma- 
tive, but  to  deny  more  strongly,  is  very  common  in  Sh.     So  in  Jul.  Coes.,  Ill,  i,  91. 

62.  confusion]  Clarendon.  Similarly  personified  in  King  John,  IV,  iii,  153. 

64.  temple]  Delius.  Note  the  confusion  of  metaphor  here.  The  temple  cannot 
be  properly  designated  as  *  anointed,*  it  is  Duncan  who  is  *  the  Lord's  Anointed.' 


1 1 8  MA  CBETH.  \kci  ii.  sc.  iu. 

Len.     Mean  you  his  majesty  ? 

Macd.     Approach  the  chamber,  and  destroy  your  sight 
With  a  new  Gorgon.     Do  not  bid  me  speak  ; 
See,  and  then  speak  yourselves.       \Exeunt  Macbeth  and  Lennox. 

Awake,  awake ! 
Ring  the  alarum-bell. — Murder  and  treason  ! —  70 

Banquo  and  Donalbain ! — Malcolm,  awake ! 
Shake  off  this  downy  sleep,  death's  counterfeit, 
And  look  on  death  itself!  up,  up.  and  see 
The  great  doom's  image ! — Malcolm  !  Banquo ! 
As  from  your  graves  rise  up,  and  walk  like  sprites,  75 

To  countenance  this  horror.     Ring  the  bell.  \BeU  rings. 

6t,     Macd.]  Macb.  F,FjF^,  Rowe  i.  74.     Banquo  f]     Donalbain!    Han. 

69.  [Exeunt ]    Dyce,   Sta.   Glo.        Banquo!  rise!  Johns,  conj.     Banquo i 

Cam.  Cla.     After  awake !  Ff,  et  cet.  all!  Lettsom. 

70.  ^w^]  Macd. -^m^  Rowe,  Pope.  76.     ^/Vi^M^^^//.]  om.  Theob.  Han. 
belL'\    bell :    [to  some  Servants,         Warb.  Johns.  Cap.  Steev.  Mai.  Rann, 

who  are  entering.  Cap.  H.  Rowe,  Var.  Sing,  i,  Dyce. 

Clarendon.  Reference  is  made  in  the  same  clause  to  i  Samuel,  xxiv,  10:  <  I 
will  not  put  forth  my  hand  against  my  lord,  for  he  is  the  Lord's  anointed  ;*  and  to 
2  Corinthians,  vi,  i6 :  *  For  ye  are  the  temple  of  the  living  God.* 

68.  Gorgon]  Clarendon.  Sh.  probably  derived  his  knowledge  of  the  Gorgon's 
head  from  Ovid,  Met.  v,  189-210.  It  is  also  alluded  to  in  Tro.  and  Cress.,  V,  10, 
18.  Webster,  The  White  Devil,  p.  21,  ed.  Dyce,  1857,  refers  to  the  same  passage 
in  Ovid. 

72.  counterfeit]  Clarendon.  So  in  Lucrece,  402,  Sleep  is  called  *  the  map  of 
death,'  and  in  Mid.  N.  D.,  HI,  ii,  364:  *  Death -counterfeiting  sleep.' 

74.  great  doom's]  Delius.  A  sight  as  terrible  as  an  image  of  the  Last  Judg- 
ment. So  also  Kent  and  Edgar  exclaim  at  the  sight  of  Cordelia  hanging,  Lear,  V, 
iii,  264:  *  Is  this  the  promised  end? — or  image  of  that  horror.'  Macduff  continues 
the  image  of  the  end  of  the  world  in  his  summons  to  Malcolm  and  Banquo  in  lines 

75.  76. 

75.  sprites]  Clarendon.  Compare  HI,  v,  27  and  IV,  i,  127,  where  the  word 
means  the  spirits  of  the  living  man. 

76.  Ring  the  bell.]  Theobald.  Macduff  had  said  at  the  Beginning  of  his 
Speech,  *  Ring  out  th'  Alarum  bell,'  but  if  the  Bell  had  rung  out  immediately,  not  a 
Word  of  What  he  says  could  have  been  distinguish'd.  *  Ring  the  Bell,'  I  say,  was  a 
Marginal  Direction  in  the  Prompter's  Book  for  him  to  order  the  Bell  to  be  rung  the 
Minute  that  Macduff  ceased  speaking.  In  proof  of  this,  we  may  observe  that  the 
Hemistich  ending  Macduff's  Speech  and  that  beginning  Lady  M.'s  make  up  a  com- 
plete Verse.  Now,  if  *  Ring  the  bell(^ad  been  part  of  the  Text,  can  we  imagine 
that  Sh.  would  have  begun  the  Lady's  speech  with  a  broken  Line  ? 

Malone.  It  should  be  remembered  that  stage  directions  were  often  couched  in 
imperative  terms :  *  Draw  a  knife,'  *  Play  musick,*  *  Ring  the  bell,'  &c.  In  the  Folio 
we  have  here  indeed  also,  *  Bell  rings,'  as  a  marginal  direction;  but  this  was  inserted 


• 


ACT  XI.  sc,  ui.]  MACBETH.  II9 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

Lxidy  M,     What's  the  business, 
That  such  a  hideous  trumpet  calls  to  parley 
The  sleepers  of  the  house  ?  speak,  speak ! 

Macd.  O  gentle  lady, 

*Tis  not  for  you  to  hear  what  I  can  speak :  80 

The  repetition,  in  a  woman's  ear, 
Would  murder  as  it  fell. — 

Enter  Banquo. 

O  Banquo,  Banquo ! 
Our  royal  master's  murder'd. 

Lady  M,  Woe,  alas ! 

What,  in  our  house  ? 

Ban,  Too  cruel  any  where. 

Dear  Duff,  I  prithee,  contradict  thyself,  85 

And  say  it  is  not  so. 

77.  Scene  V.  Pope,  + .  line   81,  Coll.  White.     After  line  82, 

78.  a\  an  Rowe  ii,  +.  Theob.    et    cet.      Enter    Banquo,   and 

79.  speak,  speak  /]  speak.  Pope,  + .  Others.  Cap. 

0'\  om.  Pope,  +.  82,  83.     C?...w«rf/^rV.]  Theob.    One 

82.     Enter  Banquo.]  After  felL  Ff,  line,  Ff,  Knt,  Sing,  ii,  Sta. 

Rowe,  Pope,  Han.  Knt,  Huds.  Sing,  ii,  85,     Dear  Duff^  Macduff  Pope,  +. 

Dyce,  Sta.  Glo.  Cam.  Ktly,  Cla.     After  contradict]  contract  F^F  F^. 

from  the  players  misconceiving  what  Sh.  had  in  truth  set  down  in  his  copy  as  a  dra- 
matic direction  to  the  property  man,  for  a  part  of  Macduff's  speech;  and  to  distin- 
guish the  direction  which  they  inserted,  from  the  supposed  words  of  the  speaker, 
they  departed  from  the  usual  imperative  form.  Throughout  the  whole  of  the  pre- 
ceding scene  we  have  constantly  an  imperative  direction  to  the  prompter :  *  Knock 
within.' 

Knight.  But  how  natural  is  it  that  Macduff,  having  previously  cried,  *  Ring  the 
alarum  bell,'  should  repeat  the  order !  The  temptation  to  strike  out  these  words  was 
the  silly  desire  to  complete  a  ten-syllable  line. 

Keightley.  Macduff,  in  his  anxiety  and  impatience,  reiterates  his  order. 

82.  Enter  Banquo]  Collier  (ed.  2).  *  Unready,'  adds  the  (MS),  to  show  that 
he  rushed  upon  the  stage  from  his  bed-room.  Nothing  of  the  kind  is  said  of  Lady 
M.,  but  we  may  safely  infer  it. 

84.  house  ?]  Warburton.  Had  she  been  innocent,  nothing  but  the  murder 
itself,  and  not  any  of  its  aggravating  circumstances,  would  naturally  have  affected 
her.  As  it  was,  her  business  was  to  appAr  highly  disordered  at  the  news.  There- 
fore, like  one  who  has  her  thoughts  about  her,  she  seeks  for  an  aggravating  circum- 
stance that  might  be  supposed  most  to  affect  her  personally,  not  considering,  that  by 
placing  it  there,  she  discovered  rather  a  concern  for  herself  than  for  the  king.  On 
the  contrary,  her  husband,  who  had  repented  the  act,  and  was  now  labouring  under 


o 


1 20  MA  CBETH.  [act  ii,  sc.  Hi. 

Re-enter  Macbeth  and  Lennox. 

Macb,     Had  I  but  died  an  hour  before  this  chance, 
I  had  lived  a  blessed  time ;  for  from  this  instant 
There's  nothing  serious  in  mortality : 

All  is  but  toys :  renown  and  grace  is  dead ;  90 

The  wine  of  life  is  drawn,  and  the  mere  lees 
Is  left  this  vault  to  brag  of. 

Enter  Malcolm  and  Donalbain. 

Don,    What  is  amiss  ? 

Macb.  You  are,  and  do  not  know't : 

The  spring,  the  head,  the  fountain  of  your  blood 
Is  stopped, — the  very  source  of  it  is  stopped.  95 

Macd,     Your  royal  father  s  murder'd. 

MaL  O,  by  whom  ? 

Lett,    Those  of  his  chamber,  as  it  seem'd,  had  done't: 
Their  hands  and  faces  were  all  badged  with  blood ; 

86.     Re-enter...]  Cap.     Enter.. .and  Sing.  i. 

Rosse.  Ff.     Re-enter... with  Ross.  Glo.  97.    seem^d^  Jkad"]    seems,  have   H. 

Cam.  Rowe. 

90.     is  dead'\  are  dead  Han.  98.     badged^  6atA*dl/Lal.  conj.  (with- 

92.  /jr]  Are  Han.  drawn), 

93.  kntndt']    know  it   Steev.   Mai. 

the  horrors  of,  a  recent  murder,  in  his  exclamation,  gives  all  the  marks  of  sorrow  for 
the  fact  itself. 

86.  Re-enter]  Collier.  Rosse  has  not  been  on  the  stage  in  this  act,  and  he  is 
employed  in  the  next  scene.  We  have,  therefore,  had  no  difficulty  in  correcting  an 
error  which  runs  through  the  Ff. 

Dyce.  There  seems  an  impropriety  in  his  absence  (as  well  as  in  that  of  Angus) 
on  the  present  occasion,  but  I  do  not  see  by  what  arrangement  he  can  be  introduced 
in  this  scene  early  enough  to  accompany  Macbeth  and  Lennox  to  the  chamber  of 
the  king. 

Delius.  If  the  stage  direction  of  the  Folios  be  correct,  its  only  purpose  was  to 
bring  upon  the  stage  as  many  persons  at  once  as  possible. 

87.  Had  I]  Malone.  So  in  Wint.  Tale,  IV,  iv,  472. 

92.  vault]  Elwin.  a  metaphorical  comparison  of  this  world  vaulted  by  the  sky 
and  robbed  of  its  spirit  and  grace,  with  a  vault  or  cellar  from  which  the  wine  has 
been  taken  and  the  dregs  only  left. 

Abbott  (J  513,  The  Amphibious  SecttBn),  See  note  II,  i,  12. 

93,  94.  You fountain]  As  You  Like  It  {Cent,  Mag.,  lix,  p.  810).  By  thus 

altering  the  punctuation  the  meaning  will  be  much  more  intelligible :  *  You  are,  and 
do  not  know  it.  The  spring,  the  head :  the  fountain,  &c. 

98.  badged]  Malone.  Compare  2  Hen.  VI :  III,  ii,  200. 


ACT  II,  sc.  iii.]  »      MACBETH.  121 

So  were  their  daggers,  which  unwiped  we  found 

Upon  their  pillows :  lOO 

They  stared,  and  were  distracted ;  no  man's  life 

Was  to  be  trusted  with  them. 

Macb,     O,  yet  I  do  repent  me  of  my  fury, 
That  I  did  kill  them. 

Macd,  Wherefore  did  you  so  ? 

Macb,     Who  can  be  wise,  amazed,  temperate  and  furious,   105 
Loyal  and  neutral,  in  a  moment  ?     No  man  : 
The  expedition  of  my  violent  love  o 

Outrun  the  pauser  reason.     Here  lay  Duncan, 
His  silver  skin  laced  with  his  golden  blood, 

icx>-i02.    Upon^Jhem?^  Steev.   Two  Han. 

lines,  the  first  ending  distracted ^  in  Ff,  108.     Outrun\   Outran  Dav.  Johns. 

Rowe, +  ,  Cap.  Knt,  Coll.  Huds.  Sing,  ii.  Cap.   Steev.   Sing.    Knt,   Coll.    Huds. 

Sta.  White.  Ktly.  White,  Ktly. 

loi.     no\  As  no  Han.  Cap.  109.    golden'\  goary  Pope,  Han. 

104.  them,'\    them —   Rowe,   Pope, 

100.  Abbott  ({  511).  See  note  I,  ii,  20. 

105.  amazed]  M.  H.  {Gent.  Mag,^  vol.  lix,  p.  35,  1789).  Read  and mat^d.  In 
the  West,  maz^d  is  synonymous  with  foolish  or  mad. 

108.  Outrun]  Clarene>on.  Both  forms  of  this  preterite  were,  and  are,  in  use. 
pauser]  Abbott  (J  443).  -Er  is  sometimes  appended  to  a  noun  for  the  purpose 

of  signifying  an  agent.  Thus:  *  A  Roman  sword^r* — 2  Hen.  VI:  IV,  i,  135.  *A 
monXer ' — 0th.,  II,  iii,  301.  *  Justic^rj ' — Lear,  IV,  ii,  79.  *  Homager ' : — Ant.  and 
Cleo.,  I,  i,  31.  In  the  last  two  instances  the  -er  is  of  French  origin,  and  in  many 
cases,  as  in  *  enchant/r,'  it  may  seem  to  be  English,  while  really  it  represents  the 
French  -eur.  The  -er  is  often  added  to  show  a  masculine  agent  where  a  noun  and 
a  verb  are  identical:  *  Truster' — Ham.,  I,  ii,  172.  *  Causer' — Rich.  Ill:  IV,  iv, 
122.     *  My  origin  and  end^r' — Lov.  Compl.,  ii,  22,  and  in  this  line  in  Macbeth. 

109.  laced]  Theobald  (Correspondence  with  Warburton,  1729,  in  Nichols's 
Lit,  Illust,^  ii,  523).  For  lac'd^  you,  Sir,  proposed  to  read,  laqu^d ;  but  I  am  afraid, 
che  ^est  un  peu  plus  reiherchie.  By  lac'dy  I  am  apt  to  imagine  our  Poet  meant  to 
describe  the  blood  running  out,  and  diffusing  itself  into  little  winding  streams,  which 
looked  like  the  work  of  lace  upon  the  skin.  So  Cymb.,  II,  ii,  22,  and  Rom.  &  Jul., 
Ill,  v,  8. 

Warburton.  The  whole  speech  is  an  unnatural  mixture  of  far-fetched  and  com- 
monplace thoughts,  that  shows  him  to  be  acting  a  part. 

Johnson.  No  amendment  can  be  made  to  this  line,  of  which  every  word  is 
equally  faulty,  but  by  a  general  blot.  It  is  not  improbable  that  Sh.  put  these  forced 
and  unnatural  metaphors  into  the  mouth  of  Macbeth,  as  a  mark  of  artifice  and  dis- 
simulation, to  show  the  difference  between  the  studied  language  of  hypocrisy  and 
the  natural  outcries  of  sudden  passion.  This  whole  speech,  so  considered,  is  a  re- 
markable instance  of  judgement,  as  it  consists  entirely  of  antithesis  and  metaphor. 

Steevens.  The  allusion  is  to  the  decoration  of  the  richest  habits  worn  in  the  age 
II 


122  AfA  CBE  TH.  [act  ii,  sc.  iii. 

And  his  gash'd  stabs  look'd  like  a  breach  in  nature  i  lO 

For  ruin's  wasteful  entrance :  there,  the  murderers, 
Steep'd  in  the  colours  of  their  trade,  their  daggers 
Unmannerly  breech'd  with  gore :  who  could  refrain, 
That  had  a  heart  to  love,  and  in  that  heart 

of  Sh.,  when  it  was  usual  to  lace  cloth  of  silver  with  gold^  and  cloth  of  gold  with 
silver.    The  second  of  these  fashions  is  mentioned  in  Much  Ado,  III,  iv,  19. 

Harry  Rowe.  The  other  day,  my  wooden  Macbeth  declared  in  the  green-room 
that  this  line  was  nonsense.  Being  old  enough  to  know  the  folly  of  disputing  with 
a  blockhead,  I  only  desired  him  to  favour  me  with  a  better.  He  accordingly  re- 
peated :  *  His  snow-white  skin  Streaked  with  his  crimson  blood.*  This,  though  not 
an  extraordinary  good  line,  has  something  to  recommend  it.  As  the  rejected  line 
appears  in  all  the  old  copies,  it  was  certainly  written  by  Sh.,  so  I  shall  follow  the 
custom  of  commentators,  and  give  my  conjecture  concerning  it.  The  river  Avon  is 
remarkable  for  its  silver  eels  and  golden  tench ;  and  as  Sh.  drew  all  his  images  from 
nature,  we  may  reasonably  suppose  that  these  two  natural  objects  made  a  strong  im- 
pression on  his  fancy,  and  might  be  the  fountain  from  whence  he  drew  *  His  silver 
skin  lac'd  with  his  golden  blood.*  Dr  Fausius,  who  is  one  of  my  best  dressed 
dramatic  characters,  and  whom  I  consult  upon  all  learned  occasions,  expresses  great 
surprise  that  Dr  Johnson  should  have  permitted  that  to  stand  in  his  edition ;  and 
the  more  so  as  he  could  not  but  apply  to  it  a  certain  line  of  Horace :  *  Insigne,  recens, 
adhuc  indictum  ore  alio.'  From  this  specimen  of  my  learned  puppet's  erudition, 
the  reader  may  be  desirous  of  knowing  something  concerning  him.  He  was  edu- 
cated at  one  of  our  universities,  where  he  drank  much  and  read  little ;  and  after  a 
residence  of  four  years,  he  quitted  his  college  with  nearly  as  much  learning  as  he 
brought  into  it. 

Abbott  (J  529).  A  metaphor  must  not  be  far-fetched  nor  dwell  upon  the  details 
of  a  disgusting  picture,  as  in  these  lines.  There  is  but  little,  and  that  far-fetched, 
similarity  between  gold  lace  and  bloody  or  between  bloody  daggers  and  breech'd  legs. 
The  slightness  of  the  similarity,  recalling  the  greatness  of  the  dissimilarity,  disgusts 
us  with  the  attempted  comparison.  Language  so  forced  is  only  appropriate  in  the 
mouth  of  a  conscious  murderer  dissembling  guilt. 

113.  breech*d]  Warburton.  This  nonsensical  account  must  surely  be  read  thus : 

*  Unmanly  reech^d  with  gore.*  Reech*dy  soiled  with  a  dark  yellow,  which  is  the 
colour  of  any  reechy  substance,  and  must  be  so  of  steel  stain'd  with  blood.  They 
were  unmanly  stain'd  with  blood,  because  such  stains  are  often  most  honourable. 

Johnson.  An  unmannerly  dagger  and  a  dagger  breech'd  are  expressions  not  easily 
to  be  understood.  There  are  undoubtedly  two  faults  here  which  I  have  endeavoured 
to  take  away  by  reading:  *  Unmanly  drenched  with  gore,' — I  saw  drench'd  with  the 
king's  blood  no/  only  instruments  of  murder  but  evidences  of  cowardice,  .  .  .  War- 
burton's  emendation  is  perhaps  right. 

Edwards  (p.  94).  /leeching  comes  from  the  A.  S.  recan  (whence  reeh  and  reek- 
ing), and  signifies  in  Sh.  sweaty ;  as  reechy  neck,  reechy  kisses,  or  metaphorically 
perhaps  greasy  ;  but  does  not  mark  any  color ;  as  the  verb  is  neuter,  there  is  no  such 
participle  as  reech'd, 

Jennens.  Sh.*s  first  thought  might  have  been  :  *  Their  naked  daggers  were  covered 
with  gore.*     Nakedness  suggested  the  word  *  unmannerly ^^  and  covered  the  word 

*  breeches,*  the  covering  of  nakedness. 


ACT  II,  sc.  iii.]  MACBETH.  1 23 

Courage  to  make's  love  known  ? 

Lady  M,  Help  me  hence,  ho !  115 

115.     makis]  make  his  Cap.  Steev.  115.     [Seeming  to  faint.   Rowe,  +, 

Var.  Sing.  Knt,  Ktly.  Cap. 

Farmer.  That  is,  sheaih' d  y/'\ih  blood.  In  the  6th  Dialogue  of  Erondell's  French 
Garden,  1605  (which  I  am  persuaded  Sh.  read  in  the  English,  and  from  which  he 
took,  as  he  supposed,  this  quaint  expression),  we  have :  *  Boy,  go  fetch  your  master's 
silver-hatched  daggers,  you  have  not  brushed  their  breeches y  bring  the  brushes,*  &c. 
Sh.  was  deceived  by  the  pointing,  and  evidently  supposes  breeches  to  be  a  new  and 
affected  term  for  scabbards.  But  had  he  been  able  to  have  read  the  French  on  the 
other  page  even  as  a  learner^  he  would  have  been  set  right  at  once :  *  Gar^on,  allcz 
querir  les  poignards  argentez  de  vos  maistres,  vous  n'avez  pas  espousset^  leur  haut- 
de-chausses* 

Douce  (i,  378)  shows  that  it  was  Farmer  who  was  misled.  The  context  proves 
that  leur  refers  to  maistres^  not  to  ies  poignards.  Ed. 

Heath  (Revisaiy  &c.,  p.  388).  Seward  in  his  Notes  on  Beaumont  and  Fletcher, 
i,  p.  380,  and  ii,  p.  276,  mentions  another  interpretation  :  'Stained  with  gore  up  to 
the  breechesy  that  is,  to  their  hilts.'  But,  as  he  justly  observes,  the  lower  end  of  a 
cannon  is  called  its  breechy  yet  the  breech  of  a  dagger  is  an  expression  which  could 
not  be  used  with  propriety.  He  conjectures  the  true  reading  to  have  l^een  hatched, 
that  is,  gilt ;  and  adduces  some  instances  from  Fletcher  which  seem  fully  to  prove 
the  use  of  the  word  in  that  signification.  .  .  .  My  own  conjecture  is  :  */n  a  manner 
lay  drenched  with  gore.'  The  qurfifying  form  of  expression.  In  a  mannery  seems 
to  have  a  peculiar  propriety.  A  dagger  cannot  imbibe  blood,  nor  be  saturated  with 
it  like  a  sponge,  which  is  the  idea  conveyed  by  the  word  drench'dy  but  it  may  appear 
as  if  it  were  so. 

Douce.  The  present  expression,  though  in  itself  something  unmannerly y  simply 
means  covered  as  with  breeches.  The  idea,  uncouth  and  perhaps  inaccurate  as  it  is, 
might  have  ^een  suggested  from  the  resemblance  of  daggers  to  the  legs  and  thighs 
of  a  man. 

Nares.  Instead  of  concluding  with  Farmer  that  Sh.  had  seen  that  passage  from 
Erondell  and  mistaken  it,  we  should  use  it  to  confirmPthe  true  explanation,  viz. : 
*  Having  their  very  hilt,  or  breech,  covered  with  blood.'  Sheaths  of  daggers  are 
wiped  not  brushed,  and  Sh.  could  not  have  supposed  them  to  be  here  meant ;  it  was 
evidently  the  silver  hatching  that  required  the  brush.  We  cannot,  however,  conceive 
of  Sh.  looking  for  paltry  authorities,  or  even  thinking  of  them  when  he  poured 
forth  his  rapid  lines.  He  doubtless  took  up  the  metaphor  as  it  occurred  to  him, 
without  further  reflection. 

Dyce  {Gloss.).  Probably  Douce  is  right. 

Delius.  The  daggers  were  covered  with  blood  as  though  with  breeches.  Breeches 
which  are  worn  for  decency's  sake,  for  mannersy  are  in  this  case  unmannerly. 

Clarendon.  We  doubt  not  the  blade,  and  not  the  handle,  is  meant.  Compare 
Twelfth  Night,  III,  iv,  274. 

115.  make's]  Clarendon.  The  abbreviation  *  's,'  for  *"his,'  is  very  common  even 
in  passages  which  are  not  colloquial  nor  familiar. 

115.  ho!]  Whateley  (p.  77,  note).  On  Lady  M.'s  seeming  to  faint,  while  Ban- 
quo  and  Macduff  are  solicitous  about  her,  Macbeth,  by  his  unconcern,  betrays  a  con- 
sciousness that  the  fainting  is  feigned. 


/24  MACBETH.  [act  ii,  sc.  iu. 

Macd,     Look  to  the  lady. 

Mai.  [Aside  to  Don,']  Why  do  we  hold  our  tongues,  ii6 
That  most  may  claim  this  argument  for  ours  ? 

Don,  [Aside  to  Ma/.']     What  should  be  spoken  here,  where 
our  fate, 
Hid  in  an  auger-hole,  may  rush,  and  seize  us  ? 

116-119.     Look..,us  F"]  The  lines  end  Rowe,  Cap.  Sta.     Ending  5poken„.hoUy 

lady...€laim..,spoken...hoU^...U5?  Walk-  ...tears.  Var.  Sing,  i,  Coll.  Huds.  White, 

er.  Ending    here... .hole. ...tears.    Pope,   +, 

116.  [gather  about  her.  Cap.  Steev.  Knt,  Sing,  ii,  Ktly. 
117,119,121.     As   aside,   Sing,    ii,  119.     Hid  in\  hidin  Y  ^.    hid  within 

Sta.  White,  Glo.  Cam.   Dyce  ii,  Cla.  F^FgF^, +,  Cap.  Steev.    hidden  in  ]s.c\i- 

Huds.  ii.  son. 

1 18-120.    What,..away]  Dyce.  Three  auger-hoW]  Ogre's  hole  DeX.  conj. 

lines,    ending    here, ...hole,... away ^    Ff,  (withdrawn). 

Malone.  a  bold  and  hardened  villain  would,  from  a  refined  policy,  have  assumed 
the  appearance  of  being  alarmed  about  her,  lest  this  very  imputation  should  arise 
against  him.     The  irresolute  Macbeth  is  not  sufficiently  at  ease  to  act  such  a  part. 

Horn  (i,  66).  Lady  M.'s  amiable  powers  give  way,  and  the  swoon  is  real.  It 
moreover  gives  us  an  intimation  of  her  subsequent  fate. 

Clarendon.  Miss  Helen  Faucit  believes  tliat  Lady  M.  really  fainted  here,  her 
over-taxed  energies  giving  way,  as  they  do  after  the  banquet-scene.  On  the  stage 
she  is  carried  out  by  her  women,  who  appear  in  dishabille,  as  having  been  hastily 
summoned  from  their  beds. 

BoDENSTEDT.  Most  edd.  suppose  this  fainting  fit  to  be  a  pretence,  but  I  am  con- 
vinced that  Sh.  meant  it  to  be  real.  Various  causes  have  co-operated  to  beget  in 
Lady  Macbeth  a  revulsion  of  feeling,  which,  from  henceforth  constantl5^  increasing, 
drives  her  at  last  to  self-destruction.  The  first  intimation  we  found  in  II,  ii,  i^-^y  34. 
She  finds  herself  mistaken  in  her  husband ;  a  gulf  has  opened  between  him  and  her 
which  nothing  can  hereafiBcr  bridge  over.  At  the  same  time,  we  perceive  here  the 
intimation  of  that  internal  and  natural  reaction  of  her  overtaxed  powers.  Woman- 
hood reasserts  its  rights. 

117.  argument]  Clarendon.  Subject,  theme  of  discourse.  Compare  Tim.  of 
Athens,  III,  iii,  30.  And  Milton,  Par.  Lost,  i,  24 :  *  The  height  of  this  great  argu- 
ment.' 

119.  Hid]  Staunton  {The  Alhenwum,  2  November,  1872).  I  have  little  doubt 
we  should  read,  *  Where  our  Fate, — hide  we  in  an  auger  hole, — may,'  &c.,  for  it 
could  never  have  been  Sh.'s  intention  that  Fate  should  be  imagined  lying  perdu  in 
an  auger  hole  ready  to  spring  upon  its  prey. 

119.  auger-hole]  Steevens.  So  in  Cor.,  IV,  vi,  87. 

Elwin.  An  instance  of  Sh.'s  power  of  so  constructing  a  specific  reference  as  to 
carry  a  general  application ;  for  although  he  personifies  fate,  yet  the  phrase,  *  may 
rush  and  seize  us,*  shows  that  his  mind  had  strictly  defined  the  method  of  its  action. 
The  general  meaning  is.  Our  fate,  concealed  in  imperceptible  or  obscure  places,  may 
suddenly  take  us;  but,  specifically,  the  auger-hole  is  the  bore  of  a  pistol,  or  the 
sheath  of  a  dagger ;  and  the  rushing  death  is  the  whizzing  ball  of  the  one,  or  the 


ACT  II,  sc.  iii.]  MACBETH,  1 25 

Let's  away;  120 

Our  tears  are  not  yet  brew'd. 

Mai,  \Aside  to  Don,"]     Nor  our  strong  sorrow 
Upon  the  foot  of  motion. 

Ban.  Look  to  the  lady : — 

\_Lacfy  Macbeth  is  carried  out. 
And  when  we  have  our  naked  frailties  hid, 
That  suffer  in  exposure,  let  us  meet,  * 

121.  sorroiu^  sorrow  yet  YJXy.  [Lady...]  Rowe.     om.  Ff. 

122.  6^(?«]  <7«  Pope, +,  Steev.  read-  123.     naked  frailties\    half-clothed 
ing  are...on  as  o^e  line.                                    bodies  H.  Rowe. 

Look'\  Look  there  Han. 

swiftly  driven  blade  of  the  other.  This  interpretation  would  be  cancelled  by  some 
critics,  by  the  intimation  that  when  Macbeth  lived  pistols  were  unknown.  But  Sh. 
has  already  mentioned  cannon  as  used  in  a  battle  fought  three  centuries  before  their 
invention ;  and  whether  this  be  through  ignorance  or  otherwise,  he  may,  with  no 
greater  inconsistency,  refer  in  idea  to  a  pistol.  It  is  preposterous  to  conceive  that 
the  all-comparing  intellect  of  Sh.  could  have  conducted  him  through  life  unobser- 
vant of  such  difference  between  age  and  age  as  the  reflection  of  the  least  reflecting 
school-boy  would  have  distinguished.  He  has,  in  truth,  designedly,  throughout  the 
whole  play,  endowed  his  personages  with  the  refinement  of  language  and  opinion 
that  would  have  characterized  such  dispositions  in  the  reign  of  Elizabeth  and  James, 
instead  of  delineating  them  with  the  characteristics  due  to  the  comparatively  uncivil- 
ized period  of  1040  or  1 045.  And  it  is  probable  that  he  adopted  systematically  the 
plots  of  popular  tales  of  more  ancient  times,  or  of  remote  countries,  in  order  to 
evade  the  condemnation  of  the  theatrical  censorship,  which  might  have  found  offence 
in  his  casual  strokes  of  satire,  if  nominally  directed  with  specific  aim  against  wealth 
and  power. 

CiARENDON.  The  place  is  so  full  of  murderous  treachery  that,  observe  we  never 
so  carefully,  we  may  overlook  the  minute  hole  in  which  it  lurks. 

121.  brew'd]  Delius.  This  metaphor  is  amplified  in  Tit.  And.,  IH,  ii,  38. 

Clarke.  In  contemptuous  allusion  to  the  feigned  lamentation  of  the  host  and 
hostess,  which  the  young  princes  evidently  see  through. 

121.  8orrov7]  Clarendon.  Sorrow  in  its  first  strength  is  motionless,  and  cannot 
express  itself  in  words  or  tears.     Compare  IV,  iii,  209,  and  3  Hen.  VI :  III,  iii,  22. 

122.  Collier  (ed.  2).  The  substituted  stage-direction  in  the  (MS)  is  *  Lady 
Macbeth  swoons '  (not  s^vounds)^  and  we  are  left  to  conclude  that  she  is  carried  out. 

123.  naked  frailties]  Steevens.  When  we  have  clothed  our  half-drest  bodies, 
which  may  take  cold  from  being  exposed  to  the  air. 

Malone.  The  Porter  had  observed  that  this  place  was  too  cold  for  hell.  See  also 
Timon,  IV,  iii,  228. 

Harry  Rowe.  Perhaps  my  dislike  to  these  words  may  proceed  from  the  circum- 
stance of  my  mmedians  constantly  sleeping  with  all  their  clothes  on. 

Davies  (ii,  98).  Mr  Garrick  would  not  risk  the  appearance  of  half,  or  even  dis- 
ordered, dress,  though  extremely  proper,  and  what  the  incident  seemed  to  require. 
But  the  words  will,  I  think,  very  easily  bear  another  meaning:  *  When  we  have  re- 
covered ourselves  from  that  grief  and  those  transports  of  passion  which,  though 
II* 


126 


MACBETH. 


[act  II,  sc.  iiL 


And  question  this  most  bloody  piece  of  work,  125 

To  know  it  further.     Fears  and  scruples  shake  us : 
In  the  great  hand  of  God  I  stand,  and  thence 
Against  the  undivulged  pretence  I  fight 
Of  treasonous  malice. 

Macd.  And  so  do  I. 

All,  So  all. 

Macb,     Let's  briefly  put  on  manly  readiness,  130 

And  meet  i'  the  hall  together. 

AIL  Well  contented. 

\Exeunt  all  but  Malcolm  and  Donalbain. 

MaL     What  will  you  do  ?     Let's  not  consort  with  them  : 
To  show  an  unfelt  sorrow  is  an  office 
Which  the  false  man  does  easy.     Til  to  England. 


126.     Fear5\  Fear  Hal. 
129.     Macd.]  Macb.  Rowe,  +  ,  Steev. 
Var.  Sing.  i. 

And'\  om.  Pope,  +. 


131.  [Exeunt...]  Han.    Exeunt.  Ff. 

132.  Rowe.     Two  lines,  Ff. 
134.     Rowe.     Two  lines,  Ff. 


justifiable  from  natural  feeling  and  the  sad  occasion,  do  but  expose  the  frailty  and 
imbecility  of  our  nature.* 

Clarendon.  All  the  characters  appeared  on  the  scene  in  night-gowns,  with  bare 
throats  and  legs. 

128.  pretence]  Heath  (p.  390).  I  fight  against  whatever  yet  undivulged  pre- 
tence may  be  alleged  by  treasonous  malice  in  justification  of  this  horrid  crime. 

Steevens.  Intention,  design.  So  in  II,  iv,  24.  Banquo  means :  1  put  m}'self 
under  the  direction  of  God,  and  relying  on  his  support,  I  here  declare  myself  an 
eternal  enemy  to  this  treason,  and  to  all  its  further  desigtts  that  have  not  yet  come  to 
light. 

Hudson.  I  swear  perpetual  war  against  this  treason,  and  all  the  secret  plottings 
of  malice,  whence  it  sprung. 

130.  readiness]  M.  Mason  {Comments  on  B.  and  F.y  App.  p.  22).  To  be  readvy 
in  all  the  ancient  plays,  means  to  be  dressed.  By  manly  readiness  Macbeth  means 
that  they  should  put  on  their  armour. 

Singer.  So  in  King  John,  V,  i,  53. 

Delius.  As  in  Sh.  *  unready'  is  equivalent  to  half-clad^  so  here  *  manly  readiness' 
means  complete  clothing  and  armour  such  as  befits  men,  in  opposition  to  the  preced- 
ing *  naked  frailties.' 

Keightley.  a  very  awkward  way  of  expressing,  Let  us  make  haste  and  put  on 
our  clothes.  To  ready  the  hair  is  still  used  in  some  places  for  combing,  and  arrang- 
ing it. 

Clarendon.  This  involves  also  the  corresponding  habit  of  mind.  Compare  tlie 
stage-direction  in  I  Hen.  VI :  II,  i,  38 ;  *  The  French  leap  over  the  walls  in  their 
shirts.  Enter,  several  ways,  the  Bastard  of  Orleans,  Alcn<;on,  and  Rcignier  half 
ready  and  half  unready.' 

134.  easy]  Abbott  (§  i).    In  early  English  many  adverbs  were  formed  from 


ACT  II,  sa  iii.]  MACBETH.  1 2 ^ 

Don,    To  Ireland,  I ;  our  separated  fortune  13S 

Shall  keep  us  both  the  safer :  where  we  are 
There's  daggers  in  men's  smiles :  the  near  in  blood, 
The  nearer  bloody.  ^ 

MaL  This  murderous  shaft  that's  shot 

Hath  not  yet  lighted,  and  our  safest  way 

Is  to  avoid  the  aim.     Therefore  to  horse ;  140 

And  let  us  not  be  dainty  of  leave-taking, 

'35-^38-     To..Moody\  Rowe.     Four  137.     near^  near^  Del. 

lines,   ending   I.,„jafer: smiUs ; I/O.     horse\  house  Y ^ ^ ^, 

bloody  Ff. 

adjectives  by  adding  e  (dative)  to  the  positive  degree :  as  bright^  adj. ;  brighter  adv. 
In  time  the  e  was  dropped,  bnt  the  adverbial  use  was  kept.  Hence,  from  a  false 
analogy,  many  adjectives  (such  as  excellent)  which  could  never  form  adverbs  in  e 
were  used  as  adverbs.  We  still  say  colloquially,  *  come  quick  ;*  *  the  moon  shines 
brighty   &c.     But  Sh.  could  say  [as  in  the  present  line  and  in  II,  i,  19]. 

Clarendon.  In  the  next  scene  *  like'  is  used  for  *  likely,*  line  29. 

137.  There's]  Abbott  (§  335).  Inflection  in -s  preceding  a  plural  subject.  Pas- 
sages in  which  the  quasi-singular  verb  precedes  the  plural  subject  stand  on  a  some- 
what different  footing  [from  that  given  at  II,  i,  61].  When  the  subject  is  as  yet  future, 
and,  as  it  were,  unsettled,  the  third  person  singular  might  be  regarded  as  the  normal 
inflection.     Such  passages  are  very  common,  particularly  in  the  case  of  *  There  is.* 

Clarendon.  Like  il y  a  in  French.  Donalbain  suspects  all,  but  most  his  father's 
cousin,  Macbeth. 

near]  Steevens.  He  suspected  Macbeth ;  for  he  was  the  nearest  in  blood  to  the 
two  princes,  being  the  cousin-german  of  Duncan. 

Walker  {Crit.,  i,  190).  For  nearer,  a  contraction  for  the  old  negher,  for  which 
latter  see  Chaucer. 

Clarendon.  Compare,  for  the  sense,  Webster,  Appius  and  Virginia,  V,  ii :  *  Great 
men's  misfortunes  thus  have  ever  stood, — They  touch  none  nearly,  but  their  nearest 
blood.* 

Allen.  See  note  on  Rom.  &  Jul.,  p.  430  (Var.  ed.  1871). 

138.  nearer]  Abbott  J  478).  Er  final  seems  to  have  been  ometimes  pro- 
nounced with  a  kind  of  *  burr,'  which  produced  the  effect  of  an  additional  syllable ; 
just  as  *  Sirrah '  is  another  and  more  vehement  form  of  *  Sir.' 

139.  lighted]  Johnson.  The  design  to  fix  the  murder  upon  some  innocent  person- 
has  not  yet  taken  effect. 

Steevens.  The  shaft  is  not  yet  lighted,  and  though  it  has  done  mischief  in  its 
flight,  we  have  reason  to  apprehend  still  more  before  it  has  spent  its  force  and  falls 
^  the  ground.  The  end  for  which  the  murder  was  committed  is  not  yet  attained. 
The  death  of  the  king  only,  could  neither  insure  the  crown  to  Macbeth,  nor  accom- 
plish any  other  purpose,  while  his  sons  were  yet  living,  who  had,  therefore,  just 
reason  to  apprehend  they  should  be  removed  by  the  same  means. 

Hudson.  Suspecting  this  murder  to  be  the  work  of  Macbeth,  Malcolm  thinks 
that  the  *  murderous  shaft  *  must  pass  through  himself  and  his  brother  to  reach  its 
mark. 


1 28  MACBETH.  [act  ii.  sc.  iv. 

But  shift  away :  there's  warrant  in  that  theft 

Which  steals  itself  when  there's  no  mercy  left.  \Exeunt 


Scene  IV.     WitJiout  the  castle. 

Enter  Ross  with  an  Old  Man. 

Old  M.     Threescore  and  ten  I  can  remember  well : 
Within  the  volume  of  which  time  I  have  seen 
Hours  dreadful  and  things  strange,  but  this  sore  night 
Hath  trifled  former  knowings. 

Ross.  Ah,  good  father, 

Thou  seest,  the  heavens,  as  troubled  with  man's  act,  5 

Scene  iv.]   Scene  ii.  Rowe,  Dyce,  2.     I  have\  rveDviy,  Pope,  +  ,  Dyce 

White.     Scene  vi.  Pope,  +  .  ii. 

Without ]    Han.     The  outside  of  4.     trifled^  stifled  Dav. 

Macbeth's  Castle.  Theob.  +  .  ^^]  Rowe.     JiaYi, 

142.  shift]  Clarendon.  Quiet  or  stealthy  motion  is  implied,  as  in  As  You  Like 
It,  II,  vii,  157. 
theft]  Delius.  Compare  All's  Well,  II.  i,  33. 

3.  sore]  Clarendon.  From  Anglosaxon  j4r,  grievous,  painful ;  connected  with 
the  German  schwer.  The  Scotch  sair  is  still  used  in  much  the  same  sense  as  *  sore ' 
once  was  in  England. 

4.  trifled]  Clarendon.  Not  used  elsewhere  in  the  same  sense.  It  is,  however, 
used  transitively  in  Mer.  of  Yen.,  lY,  i,  298 :  *  We  trifle  time.' 

Abbott  (J  290).  The  termination  en  (the  infinitive  inflection)  is  sufficient  to 
change  an  English  monosyllabic  noun  or  adjective  into  a  verb.  Thus  *  heart '  be- 
comes 'heart^'w;'  Might,'  Might^w;'  *glad,'  'gladd^'W.'  The  license  with  which 
adjectives  could  be  converted  into  verbs  is  illustrated  by :  *  Eche  that  enhauncith 
hym  schal  be  lowid,  and  he  that  mekith  hymself  shall  be  highid' — Wicklifke,  St, 
Luke^  xiv,  II.  In  the  general  destruction  of  inflections  which  prevailed  during  the 
Elizabethan  period,  en  was  particularly  discarded.  It  was  therefore  dropped  in  the 
conversion  of  nouns  and  adjectives  into  verbs,  except  in  some  cases  where  it  was 
peculiarly  necessary  to  distinguish  a  noun  or  adjective  from  a  verb.  (So  strong  was 
the  discarding  tendency  that  even  the  e  in  *  owen,*  to  *  possess,'  was  dropped,  and  Sh. 
continually  uses  *  owe'  for  *  owen  '  or  *  own.*  The  n  has  now  been  restored.)  But 
though  the  infinitive  inflection  was  generally  dropped,  the  converting  power  was 
retained,  undiminished  by  the  absence  of  the  condition.  Hence  it  may  be  said  that 
any  noun  or  adjective  could  be  converted  into  a  verb  by  the  Elizabethan  authors, 
generally  in  an  active  signification. 

4.  knowings]  Clarendon.  Not  used  as  a  plural  elsewhere  by  Sh.,  nor  appa- 
rently in  the  concrete  sense,  as  here :  *  A  piece  of  knowledge.'  It  means  *  know- 
ledge' or  'experience'  in  Cymb.,  II,  iii,  102. 

5,6.  heaven8...act... stage]  Whiter  (p.  161).  We  find  that  these  phrases  arc 
connected  with  the  stage  and  the  terms  belonging  to  it. 


ACT  II,  sc.  iv.]  MACBETH,  1 29 

Threaten  his  bloody  stage :  by  the  clock  'tis  day, 
And  yet  dark  night  strangles  the  travelling  lamp : 
Is*t  night's  predominance,  or  the  day's  shame, 
That  darkness  does  the  face  of  earth  entomb, 
When  living  light  should  kiss  it  ? 

Old  M,  Tis  unnatural,  10 

Even  like  the  deed  that's  done.     On  Tuesday  last 
A  falcon  towering  in  her  pride  of  place 

6.  Threaten]  Rowe.  Threatens  Ff,  8.  /jV]  Is  it  Cap.  Mai.  Steev.  Sing. 
Ktly.                                                                i.     /jV»  Allen  (MS). 

his]  this  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  10.     should]  shall  F,. 

stage]  strageVfzxb,  coii],  (with-  12.     towering]  towringYff-^, touring 

drawn).  Sta. 

7.  travelling]  travailing  F^F^.  Coll. 

7.  travelling]  Collier  (ed.  i).  The  words  travel  and  travail  (observes  the 
Rev.  Mr  Barry)  have  now  different  meanings,  though  formerly  synonymous.  Trav- 
elling, the  ordinary  meaning,  gives  a  puerile  idea ;  whereas  *  travailing  *  seems  to 
have  reference  to  the  stniggle  between  the  sun  and  night. 

Dyce  [Remarks,  p.  195).  In  the  speech  no  mention  is  made  of  the  sun  till  it  is 
described  as  *the   travelling  lamp,' — the   epithet   'travelling'    determining  what 

*  lamp*  was  intended :  the  instant,  therefore,  that  *  travelling'  is  changed  to  *  travail- 
ing,' the  word  « lamp*  ceases  to  signify  the  sun.  That  Sh.  was  not  singular  in 
applying  the  epithet  travelling  to  the  sun  might  be  shown  by  many  passages  of  our 

early  poets ;  so  Drayton  :  * nor  regard  him  [the  Sunne]  trauelling  the  signes.' — 

Elegies,  p.  185,  1627.  [And  so  too  in  a  later  poet, — *The  travelling  Sun  sees 
gladly  from  on  high,'  &c. — Cowley's  Davideis, —  Works,  i,  349,  ed.  1707.]  Even 
modern  writers  describe  the  sun  as  a  traveller ;  see  Amory's  Life  of  Buncle,  ii,  178, 
ed.  1766.  I  must  add  that  this  'puerile  idea'  is  to  be  traced  to  Scripture, — Psalni, 
xix,  5. 

Elwin.  This  denotes  not  only  the  motion  of  the  sun,  but  also  its  efforts  to  dispci 
the  opposing  darkness.  It  is  necessary,  therefore,  to  retain  here  the  ancient  spelling, 
that  the  word  may  fully  express  its  former  intention. 

Collier  (ed.  2).  As  Sh.  may  have  used  *  travailing '  in  a  double  sense,  as  indi- 
cating toil  and  locomotion,  we  make  no  change. 

Clarendon.  Compare  All's  Well,  II,  i,  167. 

8.  predominance]  Clarendon.  Is  night  triumphant  in  the  deed  of  darkness 
that  has  been  done,  or  is  day  ashamed  to  look  upon  it  ?  *  Predominance '  is  an 
astrological  term.  See  Tro.  and  Cress.,  II,  iii,  138,  and  Lear,  I,  ii,  134.  Compare 
also  Milton,  Par.  Lost,  viii,  160:  *  Whether  the  sun,  predominant  in  heaven,'  &c. 

Is't  night's]  Allen.   The  article  is  as  imperatively  required  with  the  word 

*  night  *  as  with  *  day.' 

10.  [See  Appendix,  p.  359.  Ed.] 

unnatural]  Abbott  (§  468).  Any  unaccented  syllable  of  a  polysyllable  (whether 
containing  i  or  any  other  vowel)  may  sometimes  be  softened  and  almost  ignored. 
So  III,  i,  79»  80,  104;  III,  ii,  II ;  III,  iv,  2,  121 ;  IV,  iii,  239;  V,  iv,  19. 

12.  towering]  Dyce  [Few  Notes,  y^.  125).  A  term  of  falconry.  Donne,  address- 
ing Sir  Henry  Goodyere,  and  speaking  of  his  hawk,  says :  *  Which  when  herselfe 

I 


1 30  MACBETH.  [act  ii.  sc.  iv. 

Was  by  a  mousing  owl  hawk'd  at  and  kill'd. 

Ross,     And  Duncan's  horses — a  thing  most  strange  and  cer- 
tain— 
Beauteous  and  swift,  the  minions  of  their  race,  15 

Turned  wild  in  nature,  broke  their  stalls,  flung  out. 
Contending  'gainst  obedience,  as  they  would  make 
War  with  mankind. 

Old  M,  Tis  said  they  eat  each  other. 

Ross,     They  did  so,  to  the  amazement  of  mine  eyes, 
That  look'd  upon't     Here  comes  the  good  Macduff.  20 

14.  Pope.     Two  lines,  Ff,  Rowe.  18.     mankind^  man  Pope,  +,  Cap. 
hor5ei\    horse    Walker,    White.  eat\  eate  F^F^.     ate  Sing.  Coll. 

horsi  Dyce  ii.  Huds.  White,  Ktly,  Del. 

15.  M«>]  M^  Theob.  Rann.  19,20.     As   in   Pope.     Three  lines, 

16.  flung'\  flong  FjFg.  ending  so  .\.,uponU,.. Macduff e^  in  Ff. 

17.  18.  Divided  as  by  Steev.  First  20.  Enter  Macduff.]  Johns.  After 
line  ends  would  Ff,  +,  Cap.  Mai.  Knt,        upon't,  Ff,  +,  Cam.  Cla. 

Coll.  Sing,  ii,  Sta.  White,  Ktly. 

she  lessens  in  the  aire.  You  then  first  say,  that  high  enough  she  iozvres.^ — Poems,  p. 
73,  ed.  1633.  Turberville  tells  us :  *  Shee  [the  hobby]  is  of  the  number  of  those 
Hawkes  that  are  hie  flying  and  toivre  Hawks,* — Booke  of  Falconrie,  p.  53,  ed. 
1611. 

Dyce  [Gloss,).  Particularly  applied  to  certain  hawks  which  tower  aloft,  soar  spi- 
rally to  a  station  high  in  the  air,  and  thence  swoop  upon  their  prey.  Compare  a 
passage  of  Milton,  which  has  been  misunderstood :  *  The  bird  of  Jove,  stoopt  from 
his  aerie  tour  [airy  tower].* — Par,  Lost^  xi,  185. 

place]   Heath  [Revisal,  p.  391).  At  the  very  top  of  her  soaring. 

GiFFORD  [Massinger,  iv,  137,  ed.  1805).  The  greatest  elevation  which  a  bird  of 
prey  attains  in  its  flight. 

13.  mousing]  Talbot.  A  very  effective  epithet,  as  contrasting  the  falcon,  in 
her  pride  of  place,  with  a  bird  that  is  accustomed  to  seek  its  prey  on  the  ground. 

14.  horses]  Abbott  (J  471).  The  plural  and  possessive  cases  of  nouns  in  which 
the  singular  ends  in  j,  se^  ss,  ce^  and  ge^  are  frequently  written,  and  still  more  fre- 
quently pronounced,  without  the  additional  syllable. 

[See  Walker,  iii,  254.  See  also  Ant.  and  Clcop.,  Ill,  vii,  7 :  *  If  we  should  serve 
with  horse  and  mares  together,  The  horse  were  merely  lost.'     See  V,  i,  22.  Ed.] 

15.  Abbott  (J  419).  The  adjective  is  placed  after  the  noun  where  a  relative 
clause,  or  some  conjunctional  clause,  is  understood  between  the  noun  and  adjective. 
*  Duncan's  horses  (Though)  Beauteotts  and  S7uift^  &c. 

their  race]  Theobald.  Sh.  does  not  mean  that  they  were  the  best  of  their  breed, 
but  that  they  were  excellent  Racers,     The  horses  of  Duncan  have  just  been  cele 
brated  for  being  S7uift, 

Cl.\rendon.  Of  all  the  breed  of  horses  man's  special  darlings. 

16.  nature]  Delius.  Their  wildness  was  no  casual  or  passing  fit,  but  their  whole 
nature  had  become  suddenly  changed. 

17.  as]  Abbott  (§  107).  See  note  on  I,  iv,  11. 


ACT  II,  sc.  iv.]  MA  CBETH.  1 3 1 

Enter  Macduff. 

How  goes  the  world,  sir,  now  ? 

Macd.  Why,  see  you  not  ? 

Ross,     Is*t  known  who  did  this  more  than  bloody  deed  ? 

Macd,     Those  that  Macbeth  hath  slain. 

Ross,  ,  Alas,  the  day ! 

What  good  could  they  pretend  ? 

Macd,  They  were  suborn'd  : 

Malcolm  and  Donalbain,  the  king's  two  sons,  25 

Are  stol'n  away  and  fled,  which  puts  upon  them 
Suspicion  of  the  deed. 

Ross,  'Gainst  nature  still : 

Thriftless  ambition,  that  wilt  ravin  up 
Thine  own  life's  means !     Then  'tis  most  like 
The  sovereignty  will  fall  upon  Macbeth.  30 

Macd,     He  is  already  named,  and  gone  to  Scone 

22.     than\  then  F^F^Fj.  28.     ravin  up\  Theob.    rauen  up  F^, 

24.     were\  are  Theob.  i.  Dav.     raven  upon  F^F  F  ,  Pope. 

suborn' d"]  Rowe.     subbomed  F,  29.     Thine'\  Its  Han. 

F,.     suborned  FjF^.  life's'\  Pope,     lives  Ff. 

28.     w/7/]    Warb.      will    Ff,    Pope,  Then  'tis"]  Why  then  it  is  Han. 

Theob.  Sing.  Coll.  Huds.  White,  Hal.  31.    sone'\  gons  F,. 

Ktly. 

24.  pretend]  Steevens.  To  intend,  to  design. 

RiTSON.  So  in  Goulart's  Histories,  1607  :  *  The  carauell  arriued  safe  at  her  pre^ 
tended  port.' 

Clarendon.  See  notes  on  II,  iii,  128.  SoprStendre  is  used  still  in  French,  with- 
out the  implication  of  falsehood. 

28.  ravin  up]  Collier.  We  have  *  ravin  down  *  used  in  precisely  the  same  man- 
ner in  Meas.  for  Meas.  I,  ii,  133. 

29,  30.  Walker  ( Vers,  289).  Lines  wanting  the  tenth,  or  final  syllable,  are  (as 
it  appears  to  me)  unknown  to  Sh.,  as  they  certainly  are  at  variance  with  his  rhythm. 
The  same  may  be  said  of  the  line  of  eight  syllables,  or  four  feet.  In  the  present 
case  we  should  arrange,  I  think,  *  Thine  own  life's  means !  Then  'tis  most  like  the 
sov'reignty'  [One  line]. 

Steevens.  Macbeth,  by  his  birth,  stood  next  in  the  succession  to  the  crown,  im- 
mediately after  the  sons  of  Duncan.  King  Malcolm,  Duncan*s  predecessor,  had 
two  daughters,  the  eldest  of  whom  was  the  mother  of  Duncan,  the  youngest  the 
mother  of  Macbeth. 

31.  Scone]  Knight.  The  ancient  royal  city  of  T/Cone,  supposed  to  have  been 
the  capital  of  the  Pictish  kingdom,  lay  two  miles  northward  from  the  present  town  of 
Perth.  It  was  the  residence  of  the  Scottish  monarchs  as  early  as  the  reign  of  Ken- 
neth M'Alpin,  and  there  was  a  long  series  of  kings  crowned  on  the  celebrated  stone 
enclosed  in  a  chair,  now  used  as  the  seat  of  our  sovereigns  at  coronations  in  West- 


1 3  2  MA  CBETH.  [act  ii,  sc.  iv. 

To  be  invested. 

Ross,  Where  is  Duncan's  body  ? 

Macd,     Carried  to  Colme-kill, 

33.  Colme-kilf]  Cap.  Colmekill  Ff.  Theob.  Warb.  Colmkil  Han.  Colmes- 
Colmeshill   Rowe.      Colmes-hill   Pope,        it/// Johns.  Mai.  Steev.  Knt. 

minster  Abbey.  This  stone  was  removed  to  Scone' from  Dunstaffnage,  the  yet  ear- 
lier residence  of  the  Scottish  kings,  by  Kenneth  II,  soon  after  the  founding  of  the 
Abbey  of  Scone  by  the  Culdees  in  838,  and  was  transferred  by  Edward  I.  to  West- 
minster Abbey  in  1 296.  This  remarkable  stone  is  reported  to  have  found  its  way  to 
DunstafTnage  from  the  plain  of  Luz,  where  it  was  the  pillar  of  the  patriarch  Jacob 
while  he  dreamed  his  dream.  An  aisle  of  the  Abbey  of  Scone  remains.  A  few 
poor  habitations  alone  exist  on  the  site  of  the  ancient  royal  city. 

Staunton  quotes  an  account  of  Scone  from  ^New  Statistical  Account  of  Scotland* 
1845,  vol.  X,  p.  1047. 

32.  Where  .  .  .  body]  Abbott  ({  513.  The  Amphibious  Section).  See  note 
II,  i,  10. 

33.  Colme-kill]  Steevens.  The  famous  lona^  one  of  the  Western  Isles.  Holin- 
shed  scarcely  mentions  the  death  of  any  of  the  ancient  kings  of  Scotland  without 
taking  notice  of  their  being  buried  with  their  predecessors  in  Colme-kill. 

M ALONE.  It  is  now  called  IcolmkilL 

BoswELL.  Kil  is  a  cell.  See  Jamieson's  Diet,  in  voce,  Colme-kill  is  the  cell  or 
chapel  of  St.  Columba. 

Knight.  This  little  island,  only  three  miles  long  and  one  and  a  half  broad,  was 
once  the  most  important  spot  of  the  whole  cluster  of  British  Isles.  It  was  inhabited 
by  Druids  previous  to  the  year  563,  when  Colum  M'Felim  M'Fergus,  afterwards 
called  St.  Columba,  landed  and  began  to  preach  Christianity.  A  monastery  was 
soon  established,  and  a  nol)le  cathedral  built,  of  which  the  ruins  still  remain.  The 
reputation  of  these  establishments  extended  over  the  whole  Christian  world  for  some 
centuries,  and  devotees  of  rank  strove  for  admission  into  them ;  the  records  of  royal 
deeds  were  preserved  there,  and  there  the  bones  of  kings  reposed.  All  the  mon- 
archs  of  Scotland,  from  Kenneth  III.  to  Macbeth,  inclusive — that  is,  from  973  to 
1040 — were  buried  at  lona.  The  island  was  several  times  laid  waste  by  Danes  and 
pirates,  and  the  records  which  were  saved  were  removed  to  Ireland,  but  the  monas- 
tic establishments  sur\'ived  and  remained  in  honour  till  1 561,  when  the  Act  of  the 
Convention  of  Estates  doomed  all  monasteries  to  demolition.  Such  books  and 
records  as  could  be  found  in  lona  were  burnt,  the  tombs  broken  open,  and  the 
greater  number  of  its  hosts  of  crosses  thrown  down  or  carried  away.  In  the  ceme- 
tery, among  the  monuments  of  the  founders  and  of  many  subsequent  abbots,  are 
three  rows  of  tombs,  said  to  be  those  of  the  Scottish,  Irish,  and  Norwegian  kings, 
in  number  reported  to  be  forty-eight.  For  statements  like  these,  however,  there  is 
no  authority  but  tradition.  Tradition  itself  does  not  pretend  to  individualize  these 
tombs,  so  that  the  stranger  must  be  satisfied  with  the  knowledge  that  within  the 
enclosure  where  he  stands  lie  Duncan  and  Macbeth. 

Staunton.  *  To  the  Highlanders  of  the  present  day  lona  is  known  as  "  Innis- 
nan-Druidhneach  "  or  the  Island  of  the  Druids — as  '*  li-cholum-chille,"  or  the  Island 
of  Colum  f  of  the  Cell,  or  Cemetery ,  whence  the  English  word  Icolymkill  is  derived.' — 
New  Statistical  Account  of  Scotland ^  1845,  vol.  vii,  p.  313. 


ACT  III.  sc.  i.]  MA CBETH,  T  33 

The  sacred  storehouse  of  his  predecessors 
And  guardian  of  their  bones. 

Ross,  Will  you  to  Scone  ?  35 

Macd,     No,  cousin,  TU  to  Fife. 

Ross,  Well,  I'will  thither. 

Macd.     Well,  may  you  see  things  well  done  there :  adieu  ! 
Lest  our  old  robes  sit  easier  than  our  new ! 

Ross,     Farewell,  father. 

Old  M,     God's  benison  go  with  you,  and  with  those  40 

That  would  make  good  of  bad  and  friends  of  foes !  [Exeunt. 


ACT    III. 

Scene  I.     Forres.    A  Room  in  the  palace. 

Enter  Banquo. 

Ban,     Thou  hast  it  now :  King,  Cawdor,  Glamis,  all, 
As  the  weird  women  promised,  and  I  fear 
Thou  play'dst  most  foully  for't :  yet  it  was  said 
It  should  not  stand  in  thy  posterity, 

But  that  myself  should  be  the  root  and  father  5 

Of  many  kings.     If  there  come  truth  from  them — 

37.  Well,  may\  Theob.     Well  may        Theob.     The  Palace.  Olo.  Cam.  Cla. 
Ff,  Rowe,  Pope.  I.     King,  Cawdor,    Glamis i\    King 

38.  [Exit.]  Cap.  Glams  and  Cawdor,  Seymour. 
40.    you]  you  sir  F^F^.    you,  Sir  F^,  2.     As]  om.  Pope,  + . 

Cap.  «;«></]  Theob.   weyardF^,  Dqy, 

Forres.]  Foris.  Cap.  Ktly.     weyward  FJ^^F^,  Rowe,  +. 

A  Room...]  Cap.    A  royal  Apart-  women]  woman  F  F  . 

ment.   Rowe,  +  .       An    Apartment 3.    /oully'] /owly  F^, 

French  (p.  297).  It  is  said  that  forty-eight  Scottish,  four  Irish,  one  French,  and 
eight  Norwegian  kings  are  interred  in  lona,  besides  many  Lords  of  the  Isles. 

40.  benison]  ClarendoK  The  opposite  word,  *  malison,*  is  not  found  in  Sh. 

2.  the]  Walker  {Vers.  75).  /*  lAe  and  0*  Che  are  to  be  pronounced  I'M*  and 
o'th*,  (In  the  Folio  they  are  so  printed;  frequently  TM,  oUh;  the  latter,  by  the 
way,  often  a'th*  or  a'M.)  In  many  places  also,  where  the  e  in  the  before  a  conso- 
nant is  at  present  retained  to  the  injury  of  the  metre,  it  ought  to  be  elided.  In  the 
present  case,  read  th\  metri gratia.  [This  reading  was  adopted  in  Singer  (ed.  2).  Ed.] 
12 


134  MACBETH,  [act  III.  sc.  i. 

As  upon  thee,  Macbeth,  their  speeches  shine — 

Why,  by  the  verities  on  thee  made  good, 

May  they  not  be  my  oracles  as  well 

And  set  me  up  in  hope  ?     But  hush,  no  more.  lo 

Sennet  sounded.    Enter  Macbeth,  as  king;  Lady  Macbeth,  as  queen;  Lennox, 

Ross,  Lords,  Ladies,  arui  Attendants. 

Macb,     Here's  our  chief  guest. 

Lady  M.  If  he  had  been  forgotten. 

It  had  been  as  a  gap  in  our  great  feast, 
And  all-thing  unbecoming. 

ID,     hopef]  hope,  F^Fj^Fj,  Johns.  beth,  Queen;  Rosse,  Lenox  Cap. 

Sennet]     Senit    Ff.      Trumpets  Ladies]  Cap.  om.  Ff. 

sound.  Rowe,  +  .     Flourish.  Cap.  13.     ail-thing]    all-things    F^.     all 

Lady Lennox,    Ross]     Mai.  things  F  F^,  Rowe,  +  ,  Cap.  Mai.  Rann, 

Lady   Macbeth,  Lennox,  Ross,  Rowe.  Sing,  i,  White.     tf//M/>f^  Coll.  Hal. 
Lady  Lennox,  Rosse,  Ff.     Lady  Mac- 

7.  shine]  Warburton.  'Shine*  ior prosper. 

Johnson.  Appear  with  all  the  lustre  of  conspicuous  truth. 

Heath.  Manifest  the  lustre  of  their  truth  by  their  accomplishment. 

Collier  (ed.  2).  Show  in  the  (MS),  but  the  change  does  not  seem  necessary,  nor 
perhaps  judicious. 

10.  Hush]  Clarke.  These  words  are  in  perfect  moral  keeping  with  Banquo*s 
previous  resolute  fightings  against  evil  suggestions. 

Sennet]  Nares.  Sennet,  Senet,  Synnet,  Cynet,  Signet,  and  Signate,  A  word 
chiefly  occurring  in  the  stage  directions  of  old  plays,  and  seeming  to  indicate  a  par- 
ticular set  of  notes  on  the  trumpet  or  comet,  different  from  a  flourish.  *  Trumpets 
sound  a  flourish,  and  then  a  sennet.* — Decker's  Satirom,  *  The  comets  sound  a 
cynet.* — Marston's  Antonio's  Revenge, 

Dyce  [Gloss,),  The  etymology  of  the  word  is  doubtful. 

Clarendon.  The  word  does  not  occur  in  the  text  of  Sh. 

13.  all-thing]  Elwin.  So  in  Henry  the  Eighth's  Primer,  the  Hymn  in  the  Com- 
pline commences  thus : 

'  O  Lorde,  the  maker  of  all-thing^. 
We  pray  the  nowe  in  this  evening.' 

Clarendon.  It  seems  to  be  used  as  an  adverb  meaning  in  *  every  way  :*  compare 
'something,'  *  nothing.'  In  Robert  of  Gloucester,  p.  69  (ed.  Heame),  *  alle  ]>ing' 
appears  to  be  used  for  *  altogether ' :  *  As  wommon  dej)  hire  child  alle  J)ing  mest.' 
Again,  on  p.  48,  where  Hearne  prints :  *  Ac  |>o  nolde  not  Cassibel  J)at  heo  schulde 
allyng  faile,'  Lord  Mostyn's  MS  has  *  all>ynge,'  meaning  altogether. 

Abbott  (J  12).  The  adjectives  all,  each,  both,  every,  other,  are  sometimes  inter- 
changed and  used  as  pronouns  in  a  manner  different  from  modem  usage.  In  this 
instance  *  all '  is  used  for  every.  We  still  use  *  all '  for  *  all  men.*  But  Ascham  (p. 
54)  wrote :  *  ///  commonlie  have  over  much  wit,*  and  (p.  65) ;  •  Infinite  shall  be 
made  cold  by  your  example,  that  were  never  hurt  by  reading  of  bookes.'     This  is 


ACT  III,  sc  i.]  .     MACBETH.  135 

Macb.    To-night  we  hold  a  solemn  supper,  sir, 
And  ril  request  your  presence. 

Ban,  Let  your  highness  15 

Command  upon  me,  to  the  which  my  duties 

14.  To-nightl  Tonight  Ff.  Pope,  +  ,  Cap.  Mai.  Rann,  Coll.  ii  (MS), 

15.  Let  your  highness\    Lay  your        Huds.  ii. 
Highness' s  Rowe.     Lay  your  highness^ 

perhaps  an  attempt  to  introduce  a  Latin  idiom.     Sh.,  however,  writes :  *  What  ever 
have  been  thought  on.* — Cor.,  I,  ii,  4. 

14.  solemn]  Boswell.  This  adjective  seems  to  have  meant  nothing  more  than 
a  supper  given  on  a  regular  invitation. 

[See  notes  on  Rom.  &  Jul.  (ed.  187 1 ),  I,  v,  55.     Ed.] 

supper]  Nares.  Dinner  being  usually  at  eleven  or  twelve,  supper  was  very  prop- 
erly fixed  at  five  o'clock.  *  With  us  the  nobilitie,  gentrie,  and  students,  doo  ordi- 
narilie  go  to  dinner  at  eleven  before  noone,  and  to  supper  at  five,  or  betweene  five 
and  sixe  at  afternoone.' — Harrison,  Descrip,  of  England^  pref.  to  Holinshed. 

15.  I'll]  Harry  Rowe.  As  Macbeth  is  here  speaking  of  the  present,  and  not  of 
the  future  time,  I  do  not  well  know  why  the  learned  edd.  should  continue  to  print 
*  I'll '  for  */.*  Browne  in  his  Vulgar  Errors  whimsically  says :  *  Many  heads  that 
undertake  learning  were  never  squared  or  timbered  for  it.*  To  my  company  this 
observation  cannot  apply,  as  there  is  not  a  head  belonging  to  them  but  what  is  ex- 
actly squared  according  to  the  rules  of  Lavater;  so  that  they  have  a  decided  supe- 
riority over  those  who  may  be  said  to  *  make  their  own  heads.* 

Let]  M ALONE.  Rowe's  change  was  suggested  by  Davenant's  Version. 

M.  Mason.  I  would  rather  read  Set  your  command,  &c. ;  for  unless  '  command  ' 
is  used  as  a  noun,  there  is  nothing  to  which  the  following  words — *  to  the  which  * — 
can  possibly  refer. 

Singer  {^Sh.  Vind.,  p.  254).  Mason's  reading  is  the  most  admissible,  if  any  devia- 
tion from  the  old  reading  should  be  deemed  requisite. 

Dyce  (ed.  i).  [After  quoting  Mason's  note,  as  above,  adds]:  A  remark  which 
ought  not  to  have  come  from  one  familiar  with  our  early  writers. 

Collier  (ed.  2).  We  have  no  difficulty  in  adopting  the  correction  of  the  (MS), 
although  Set  may  appear  to  come  nearer  the  letters. 

Clarendon.  The  phrase, « command  upon  me,*  for  *  lay  your  commands  upon 
me,*  does  not  seem  unnatural,  though  we  know  of  no  other  instance  in  which  it  is 
employed. 

highness]  Delius.  This  is  not  Macbeth's  title,  but,  in  a  literal  sense,  an  attri- 
bute of  the  new  king :  <  Let  your  royal  highness  command  upon  me,  dispose  of  me, 
by  virtue  of,  or  in  the  name  of,  your  highness.* 

16.  upon]  Elwin.  It  here  signifies  over  as  in  an  old  trans,  of  the  New  Testa- 
ment ;  *  He  beheld  the  city  and  wept  upon  it.*  Banquo  expresses  his  recognition  of 
the  general  and  perpetual  supremacy  of  sovereignty  in  Macbeth. 

Keightley.  Insert  be  before  *  upon  * ;  this  removes  all  difficulty  very  simply.  Be 
is  omitted  constantly. 

Abbott  (J  139).  One  general  rule  may  be  laid  down,  that  the  meanings  of  the 
prepositions  are  more  restricted  now  than  in  the  Elizabethan  authors ;  partly  because 
some  of  the  prepositions  have  been  pressed  into  the  ranks  of  the  conjunctions; 


136  MACBETH.     •  [act  hi,  sc.  i. 

Are  with  a  most  indissoluble  tie 
For  ever  knit. 

Macb.     Ride  you  this  afternoon  ? 

Ban,  hy^  my  good  lord. 

Macb,    We  should  have  else  desired  your  good  advice,        20 
Which  still  hath  been  both  grave  and  prosperous, 
In  this  day's  council ;  but  we'll  take  to-morrow. 
Is't  far  you  ride  ? 

Ban,    As  far,  my  lord,  as  will  fill  up  the  time 
'Twixt  this  and  supper:  go  not  my  horse  the  better,  25 

20-23.     Ending  the  lines  tUsir^d..,,  Mai.  conj.  Ktly. 

grave. ..but,.. ride F  Pope,-!-.  22.     to-morrow]    to  morrow  F,F,F  . 

22.     council]  Rowe.     Councell  F,F,.  to  Morrow  F^. 

Councel  FjF^.  23.  Is't]  Is  it  Pope,  + . 
take]  talk  Mai.  Rann,  Var.  tak^t 

partly  because,  as  the  language  has  developed,  new  prepositional  ideas  having  sprung 
up  and  requiring  new  prepositional  words  to  express  them,  the  number  of  preposi- 
tions has  increased,  while  the  scope  of  each  has  decreased.  Thus  many  of  the 
meanings  of  *  by  *  have  been  divided  among  '  near,'  <  in  accordance  with,'  <  by  reason 
of,*  *  owing  to,*  &c. 

{191.  We  should  not  use  upon  in  this  present  instance,  though  after  *  claim  *  and 
'  demand  *  upon  is  still  used. 

the  which]  Abbott  (J  270).  The  question  may  arise  why  *  the  *  is  attached  to 
which  and  not  to  who,  (The  instance,  *  Your  mistress  from  the  whom  I  see,*  &c. — 
Wint.  Tale,  IV,  iv,  539,  is,  perhaps,  unique  in  Sh.)  The  answer  is  tliat  who  is  con- 
sidered definite  already,  and  stands  for  a  noun,  while  which  is  considered  as  an  in- 
definite adjective ;  just  as  in  French  we  have  *  /<rquel,'  but  not  /rtjui.'  *  The  which  * 
is  generally  used  either  where  the  antecedent,  or  some  word  like  the  antecedent,  is 
repeated,  or  else  where  such  a  repetition  could  be  made  if  desired. 

Clarendon.  The  antecedent  to  *  which  *  is  the  idea  contained  in  the  preceding 
clause. 

21.  still]  Ed.   Always.     See  Rom.  &  Jul.  (ed.  1871),  V,  iii,  106. 
prosperous]  Clarendon.  Followed  by  a  prosperous  issue. 

22.  take]  Knight.  It  is  difficult  to  imagine  a  more  unnecessary  change  than 
Malone's  talk,  "Who  could  doubt  our  meaning  if  we  were  to  say,  *  Well,  sir,  if  you 
cannot  come  this  afternoon,  we  will  take  to-morrow.* 

25.  go  not]  Clarendon.  Compare  Rich.  II :  II,  i,  300 :  *  Hold  out  my  horse, 
and  I  will  first  be  there.' 

Abbott  in  note  to  III,  vi,  19. 

25.  the  better]  Clarendon.  The  better  considering  the  distance  he  has  to  go. 
Stowe,  in  his  Survey  of  London  (ed.  1618,  p.  145,  misquoted  by  Malone),  says  of 
tilting  at  the  quintain,  *  Hee  that  hit  it  full,  if  he  rid  not  the  faster,  had  a  sound 
blow  in  his  necke,  with  a  bagge  full  of  sand  hanged  on  the  other  end ;'  where  the 
meaning  is,  *  If  he  rid  not  the  faster  because  he  had  hit  it  full,*  &c. 

Abbott  (J  94).  The  (in  Early  Eng.  M/,  thy)  is  used  as  the  ablative  of  the  de- 
monstrative and  relative,  with  comparatives,  to  signify  the  measure  of  excess  ov 


ACT  III,  sc.  i.]  MACBETH.  137 

I  must  become  a  borrower  of  the  night 
For  a  dark  hour  or  twain. 

Macb.  Fail  not  our  feast. 

Ban,     My  lord,  I  will  not. 

Macb.     We  hear  our  bloody  cousins  are  bestow'd 
In  England  and  in  Ireland,  not  confessing  30 

Their  cruel  parricide,  filling  their  hearers 
With  strange  invention :  but  of  that  to-morrow, 
When  therewithal  we  shall  have  cause  of  state 
Craving  us  jointly.     Hie  you  to  horse :  adieu, 
Till  you  return  at  night.     Goes  Fleance  with  you  ?  35 

Ban,     Ay.  my  good  lord :  our  time  does  call  upon's. 

Macb,     I  wish  your  horses  swift  and  sure  of  foot, 
And  so  I  do  commend  you  to  their  backs. 
Farewell. —  [Exit  Banquo, 

34.    you\  om.  Pope,  +  ,  Cap.  Sta.  White,  GIo.     upon  us  Pope  et  cet 

34.35.     adieu,„„you'\    Pope.  Two            38.     J  do^  do  lY^^.  St^. 

lines,  the  first  ending  night,  Ff.  38,  39.     One  line,  Ktly. 

36.     upends"]  Ff,  Rowe,  Jenn.  Dyce, 

defect.  This  use  is  still  retained.  *The  sooner  th€  better,*  i.  e.,  *By  how  much  the 
sooner  by  so  much  the  better.'  (Lat.  <  quo  citius,  eo  melius.')  It  is  sometimes  stated 
that  'the  better*  is  used  by  Sh.  for  'better,*  &c. :  but  it  will  often,  perhaps  always, 
be  found  that  the  has  a  certain  force.  Thus  in  *The  rather,*  IV,  iii,  184,  'the* 
means  '  on  that  account.*  In  the  present  instance  Banquo  is  perhaps  regarding  his 
horse  as  racing  against  night,  and  <  the  better  *  means  '  the  better  of  the  two.*  In 
the  passage  from  Stowe*s  Survey  [cited  above]  the  rider  is  perhaps  described  as 
endeavoring  to  anticipate  the  blow  of  the  quintain  by  being  *  the  faster  *  of  the  two. 
Or  more  probably  [as  explained  by  the  Cambridge  edd.  above].  In  either  case  it  is 
unscholarly  to  say  that  the  is  redundant. 

27.  twain]  Clarendon.  Anglosaxon  twegen,  nom.  and  ace.  masc.  The  fem. 
and  neut.  form  is  twa, 

28.  I  wiU  not]  Clarke.  This  reply  comes  with  fearfully  impressive  significance, 
when  we  find  that  the  pledge  given  in  the  flesh  is  fulfilled  in  the  spirit. 

31.  parricide]  Clarendon.  Used  in  the  sense  oi  parricidium  as  well  as  parri- 
cida.  The  only  other  passage  in  Sh.  in  which  it  is  found  is  Lear,  II,  i,  48,  where 
it  means  the  latter. 

33.  therewithal]  Delius.  That  is,  besides  this  affair  of  his  '  bloody  cousins.' 
cause]  Clarendon.  A  subject  of  debate.     In  IV,  iii,  196,  'the  general  cause* 
means  the  '  public  interest,*  and  in  Tro.  and  Cress.,  V,  ii,  143,  it  is  used  for  '  dis- 
pute,* 'argument.* 

38.  commend]  Elwin.  In  this  place  to  commit  carefully  or  to  make  ever. 
Clarendon.  It  is  said  jestingly,  with  an  affectation  of  formality. 

39.  Farewell]  Abbott  (J  512).  Some  irregularities  may  be  explained  by  the 
custom  of  placing  ejaculations,  appellations,  &c.,  out  of  the  regular  verse  (as  in 
Greek  ^,  &c.].     Thus  also  '  Sirrah,*  line  44,  should  form  a  detached  foot  by  itself^ 

12* 


138  MA  CBETH.  [act  hi,  sc.  i. 

Let  every  man  be  master  of  his  time  40 

Till  seven  at  night ;  to  make  society 

The  sweeter  welcome,  we  will  keep  ourself 

Till  supper-time  alone :  while  then,  God  be  with  you  ! — 

[Exeunt  all  but  Macbeth  and  an  Attendant. 
Sirrah,  a  word  with  you :  attend  those  men 
Our  pleasure  ?  45 

41,42.     night ;  tc.weUome,']  TliQoh.  Rowe,  +  . 

nightf  to welcome:  Ff,  Rowe,  Pope,  43.     Scene  ii.  Manent  Macbeth  and 

Hal.  Del.  Ktly.  a  Servant.  Pope,  +  . 

42,  43.     The  sweeter.,... you]    Rowe.  [To  a  Servant.  Rowe. 
Three  lines,  ending  welcome  :.„alon€  :,..  with  you]  om.  Steev. 

you.  Ff.  44.     Sirrah]  Sirrha  F^F^F^,  Dav. 

43.  while]  till  Vo^tf-\- .  44f  45*     Sirrah...pleasure]  One  line, 
be  with]  b^  wi^  Dyce  ii.  Huds.  ii.  Cap.  Steev.  Var.  Knt,  Sta.  Ktly. 
[Exeunt...]  Glo.    Exeunt  Lords.  44-4^.     Sirrah... .gate.]   Ending  the 

Ff.     Exeunt  Lady  Macbeth,  and  Lords.         Wnts you:... lord... gate.  Walker,  White. 

40-42.  Let.. .welcome,]  Elwin  [who  puts  a  full  stop  after  *  welcome*].  Mac- 
beth affects  to  dismiss  his  Court  from  the  restraints  of  society,  not  for  his  own  grati- 
fication, but  as  a  boon  to  them,  in  order  that  their  reunion  at  his  table  may  be  ren- 
dered more  agreeable  to  them.  And  he  merely  signifies  his  own  intention  to  retain 
none  about  himself,  but  to  pass  the  intervening  time  alone. 

Clarendon.  Theobald's  punctuation  is  doubtless  right ;  it  is  solitude  that  gives 
a  zest  to  society,  not  the  being  master  of  one's  time. 

42.  welcome]  Clarendon.  It  may  be  doubted  whether  *  welcome  *  is  here  a 
substantive  or  an  adjective  agreeing  with  society.  We  have  the  former  construction 
in  Timon,  I,  ii,  135.     If  we  took  the  latter,  *  sweeter'  would  be  used  for  the  adverb 

*  sweetlier.' 

43.  while]  Keightley  (p.  ZZZ)-  This  line  cannot  be  as  Sh.  wrote  it,  for  the 
metric  accents  fall  on  *  be '  and  *  you.'  We  might  read  good  bye,  but  it  would  be 
somewhat  too  familiar.     On  the  whole  I  think  that  mean  has  been  omitted  before 

*  while.*     By  supplying  it  the  language  becomes  dignified  and  king-like. 

Clarendon.  Till  then.  Compare  Rich.  II :  IV,  i,  269.  So  *  whiles '  in  Twelfth 
N.,  IV,  iii,  29.  [Note  on  Rich.  II :  I,  iii,  122.]  *  While'  can  only,  we  think,  be 
properly  used  for  *  till,'  when  it  follows  a  verb  expressing  a  continuous  action,  an 
action  which  lasts  over  the  interval  of  time  designated.  *  While '  is  commonly  used 
for  *  till '  in  the  northern  counties  of  England,  but  without  the  limitation  which  we 
have  mentioned  as  characterizing  the  usage  of  Sh. 

Abbott  (J  137).  While  now  means  only  'during  the  time  when,'  but  in  Eliza- 
bethan English  both  while  and  whiles  meant  also  *  up  to  the  time  when.'  (Compare 
a  similar  use  of  *  dum  *  in  Latin  and  fcjf  in  Greek.) 

Qod  be  with  you]  Walker  {Vers.  227).  This  is  in  fact  God  b'  wP  you; 
sometimes  a  trisyllable,  sometimes  contracted  into  a  dissyllable; — now  Good-bye. 
(Quere,  whether  the  substitution  of  good  for  God  was  not  the  work  of  the  Puritans, 
who  may  have  considered  the  familiar  use  of  God's  name  in  the  common  form  of 
leave-taking  as  irreverent  ?   I  suggest  this  merely  as  a  may-be.^    [See  V,  viii,  53.  Ed. ] 

45.  pleasure]  Abbott  (}  512).  [See  note  on  line  39  above.]  Sh.  could  not 
possibly  make  *  our  pleasure '  a  detached  foot. 


ACT  III.  sc.  L]  MA  CBETH.  1 39 

Attend.     They  are,  my  lord,  without  the  palace-gate. 

Macb,     Bring  them  before  us. —  \Exit  Attendant. 

To  be  thus  is  nothing ; 
But  to  be  safely  thus :  our  fears  in  Banquo 
Stick  deep ;  and  in  his  royalty  of  nature 

Reigns  that  which  would  be  fear'd :  'tis  much  he  dares,  50 

And  to  that  dauntless  temper  of  his  mind, 
He  hath  a  wisdom  that  doth  guide  his  valour 
To  act  in  safety.     There  is  none  but  he 
Whose  being  I  do  fear :  and  under  him 
My  Genius  is  rebuked,  as  it  is  said  55 

47-50.     To  be,.,dares^  Rowe.    Four  Rowe.     nothings  But  Coll.  Huds.  Sta. 

lines,  ending  thus  :,„deepe^.,  that.,.dareSy  White,  Del. 

Ff.  55,  56.     a5..,CasarJ\  om.  Johns,  conj. 

47,  48.     nothing;  But"]  Theob.     no-  (withdrawn),  H.  Rowe. 
thing.     But    Pope,     nothingy   but    Ff, 

47.  nothing  ;J  Staunton.  To  be  a  king  is  nothing,  unless  to  be  safely  one.  This 
is,  out  of  doubt,  the  meaning  of  the  poet ;  but  Theobald's  punctuation  renders  the 
passage  quite  incomprehensible. 

Clarenemdn.  To  reign  merely  is  nothing ;  but  to  reign  in  safety  [is  the  thing  to 
be  desired]. 

Abbott  (J  385).  After  but  the  finite  verb  is  to  be  supplied  without  the  negative. 
To  be  thus  is  nothing,  But  to  be  safely  thus  (is  something). 

Riddle  (p.  79)  cites  Aristotle,  Bhet.,  II,  5,  8,  and  II,  5,  11. 

48.  in]  Abbott  (J  162).  In  is  metaphorically  used  for  *  in  the  case  of,*  'about.* 

49.  royalty]  Staunton.  A  form  of  expression  correspondent  to,  and  confirmatory 
of,  *  sovereignty  of  reason,*  and  *  nobility  of  love.* 

50.  would]  Abbott  (§  329).  See  note  on  I,  v,  19,  and  Clarendon,  I,  vii,  34. 

51.  to]  Abbott  (§  185).  Radical  meaning  motion  towards.  Hence  addition. 
This  meaning  is  now  only  retained  in  verbs  implying  motion,  and  only  the  strong 
form  *  too  *  (compare  of  and  off)  retains  independently  the  meaning  of  addition. 
But  in  Elizabethan  authors  too  is  written  to,  and  the  prepositional  meaning  *  in  addi- 
tion to  *  is  found,  without  a  verb  of  motion,  and  sometimes  without  any  verb.  As 
in  the  present  instance.  To  in  this  sense  has  been  supplanted  by  *  beside.*  See  I, 
vi,  18. 

53.  safety]  Clarke.  Here  used  for  *  moral  safety,*  *  righteous  precaution.* 
but  he]   Abbott  (j  118).   But  (Early  English  and  modem  northern  English 
« bout  *)  is  in  Old  Saxon,  *  bi-utan,*  where  *  bi  *  is  our  modem  *  by,*  and  *  utan*  means 
*  without.*     Thus  but  is  a  contraction  for  *  by-out,*  and  is  formed  exactly  like  *  with- 
out.*    Hence  but  means  excepted  or  excepting, 

55.  Genius]  Heath.  Compare  Ant.  and  Qeop.,  II,  iii,  18: 

*  Therefore,  O  Antony,  stay  not  by  his  tide  : 
Thy  demon,  that's  thy  spirit  which  keeps  thee,  is 
Noble,  courageous,  high,  unmatchable. 
Where  Caesar's  is  not ;  but,  near  him,  thy  angel 
Becomes  a  fear,  as  being  o'erpower'd.' 

J.  P.  Kemble  {Macbeth  and  Richard  the  Third,  p.  71,  1 81 7).  Antony  feared  Oc- 


140  MACBETH.  [act  III,  sc.  i. 

Mark  Antony's  was  by  Caesar.     He  chid  the  sisters, 

When  first  they  put  the  name  of  king  upon  me, 

And  bade  them  speak  to  him  ;  then  prophet-like 

They  hail'd  him  father  to  a  line  of  kings : 

Upon  my  head  they  placed  a  fruitless  crown  60 

And  put  a  barren  sceptre  in  my  gripe, 

Thence  to  be  wrench'd  with  an  unlineal  hand. 

No  son  of  mine  succeeding.     If  *t  be  so, 

For  Banquo's  issue  have  I  filed  my  mind ; 

56.     Mark']  om.  Pope,  +.  ^/V  Han.  Warb.  Ktly.    soii'd  Long 

Casar\  Casar's  Dav.  Han.  Dyce  MS.* 

ii,  Huds.  ii.  64-^.     mind ;..,. murder' d ;...Jkem; 

58.     bade]  Theob.  ii.     bad  Ff,  Han.  .„kingSy..„kings  /]    Johns.      Minde,,.,, 

Cap.  murther' d,.,Jhemf...ICingSt... Kings  :  Yi, 

62.  iwM]  i^^  Cap.  conj.  mind  ?,„murtker^d  f.„.themf,„. Kings  f 

63.  Ift  be]  If  'tis  Pope,  + .  Kings  f  Pope. 

64.  fiUd]firdY^^,     JiirdY^^, 

tavius  as  a  political,  not  as  a  personal,  enemy ;  and  this  is  exactly  the  light  in  which 
Macbeth  regards  Banquo — as  a  rival  for  the  sovereignty. 

Elwin.  *  There  was  an  Egyptian  soothsayer  that  made  Antonius  believe  that  his 
genius,  which  otherwise  was  brave  and  confident,  was,  in  the  presence  of  Octavius 
Csesar,  poor  and  cowardly ;  and  therefore  he  advised  him  to  absent  himself  as  much 
as  he  could,  and  remove  far  from  him.  This  soothsayer  was  thought  to  be  suborned 
by  Cleopatra  to  make  him  live  in  Egypt  and  other  remote  places  from  Rome. 
Howsoever,  the  conceit  of  a  predominant  or  mastering  spirit  of  one  man  over  an- 
other is  ancient,  and  received  still  in  vulgar  opinion.' — Bacon's  Works ^  vol.  iv, 
p.  504. 

Clarendon.  The  passage  from  Ant.  and  Cleop.  is  borrowed  from  North's  Plu- 
tarch, Antonius  (p.  926,  lines  8-10,  ed.  1631) :  *  For  thy  demon,  said  he  (that  is  to 
say,  the  good  angell  and  spirit  that  keepeth  thee),  is  afraid  of  his :  and  being  coura- 
gious  and  high  when  he  is  alone,  becommeth  fearfull  and  timorous  when  he  cometh 
neare  vnto  the  other.' 

62.  with]  Clarendon.  With  was  used  formerly  of  the  agent,  where  now  we 
should  rather  say  *  by.'  Compare  Wint.  Tale,  V,  ii,  68.  We  confine  *  with  '  to  the 
instrument,  and  still  say  *  with  a  hand,'  *  with  a  sword,'  but  not  '  with  a  man,'  *  with 
a  bear.'     See  also  King  John,  H,  i,  567. 

63.  son]  French  (p.  289).  According  to  tradition,  a  son  of  Macbeth  was  slain 
with  him  in  his  last  encounter  with  Malcolm.  At  a  place  called  Tough,  a  few  miles 
north  of  Lumphannan,  a  large  standing  stone,  twelve  feet  high,  is  said  to  commemo- 
rate the  death  of  this  son,  who  is  called  Luctacus  by  Bctham.     [See  IV,  iii,  216.] 

64.  filed]  Warburton.  That  is,  defiled. 

Steevens.    So  in  Wilkins's  Miseries  of  Inforc'd   Marriage,  1607:    * like 

smoke  through  a  chimney  thatyf/«  all  the  way  it  goes.*  Again  in  Spenser's  Fairy 
Queen,  b.  iii,  c.  i :  *  She  lightly  lept  out  of  htr  filed  bed.' 

White.  So  in  Childe  Waters  (Child's  British  Ballads,  iii,  210) : 

'  And  take  her  up  in  thine  armes  twalne 
For  filing  of  her  feete.' 


ACT  III,  sc.  i.]  MA CBETH.  1 4^ 

For  them  the  gracious  Duncan  have  I  murder'd;  65 

Put  rancours  in  the  vessel  of  my  peace 

Only  for  them ;  and  mine  eternal  jewel 

Given  to  the  common  enemy  of  man, 

To  make  them  kings,  the  seed  of  Banquo  kings ! 

Rather  than  so,  come,  fate,  into  the  list,  70 

And  champion  me  to  the  utterance ! — Who's  there  ? — 

69.     kings i]  kings.  Upton.  71.     One  line,  Pope.     Two,  Ff. 

69.  sfed^  Pope.  Seedes  F^F^.  Seeds  Re-enter....]  Cap.  Enter  Ser- 
FjF^,  Coll.  i,  El.  White,  Ktly.                        vant,  and  two  Murtherers.  Ff. 

70.  iisf]  lists  Ktly. 

66.  vessel]  Clarendon.  Probably  suggested  by  St.  PauPs  words,  Rom.  ix, 
22,  23. 

67.  eternal  jewel]  DelIus.  His  eternal  salvation. 

Clarendon.  Does  it  not  rather  mean  his  *  immortal  soul '  ?  For  *  eternal  *  in  this 
sense  see  King  John,  III,  iv,  18. 

69.  seed]  Collier  (ed.  i).  Macbeth  speaks  of  Banquo's  issue  throughout  in 
the  plural. 

Elwin.  By  multiplying  the  ordinary  plurality  of  the  term  seed,  it  is  rendered  em- 
phatically significant  oi  far-extended  descents ^  whilst  it  at  the  same  time  indicates,  as 
emphatically,  an  insignificance  of  individuality  that  perhaps  no  other  word  in  the 
English  language  would  have  so  scornfully  expressed. 

Dyce  [Remarks).  Does  not  *  seed '  convey  the  idea  of  number  as  well  as  seeds  f 

Dyce  (ed.  i).  I  do  not  venture  to  retain  the  reading  of  the  Ff  on  the  strength 
of  a  somewhat  doubtful  reading  in  the  Sec.  Part  of  Marlowe's  Tamburlainey  *  And 
live  in  all  your  seeds  immortally*  ( WorkSy  i,  222,  ed.  Dyce),  since  it  is  a  frequent 
error  of  the  Folio  to  put  the  plural  of  substantives  instead  of  the  singular  (see  an 
instance  in  this  play,  III,  vi,  24),  and  since  it  is  unlikely  that  Sh.  (who  in  Tro.  and 
Cres.,  IV,  v,  121  has,  *  A  cousin-german  to  great  Priam's  seedy  &c.)  would  so  devi- 
ate here  from  common  phraseology  as  to  term  a  man's  issue  his  seeds. 

Collier  (ed.  2).  The  (MS)  amends  to  seedy  which  is  doubtless  right. 

Walker  [Crit.  i,  240).  We  have  indeed,  in  Chapman  and  Shirley's  Chabot,  II, 

iii,  Gifford  and  Dyce's  Shirley,  vol.  vi,  p.  108 :  * thunder  on  your  head.  And 

after  you  crush  your  surviving  seeds.''     But  this  play  is  grossly  corrupt. 

70.  list]  Clarendon.  Nowhere  else  used  in  the  singular  by  Sh.  except  in  the 
more  general  sense  of  'boundary,'  as  Ham.,  IV,  v,  99.  For  the  space  marked  out 
for  a  combat  he  always  uses  *  lists.' 

71.  champion]  Clarendon.  Fight  with  me  in  single  combat.  This  seems  to 
be  the  only  known  passage  in  which  the  verb  is  used  in  this  sense. 

71.  utterance]  Johnson.  This  passage  will  be  best  explained  by  translating  it 
into  the  language  from  whence  the  only  word  of  difficulty  in  it  is  borrowed.  *Que 
la  destinie  se  rende  en  lice,  et  qWelle  me  donne  un  defi  a  I'outrance.*  A  challenge,  or 
a  combat  a  routrancey  to  extremity,  was  a  fixed  term  in  the  law  of  arms,  used  when 
the  combatants  engaged  with  an  odium  internecinum,  an  intention  to  destroy  each 
other,  in  opposition  to  trials  of  skill  at  festivals,  or  on  other  occasions,  where  the 
contest  was  only  for  reputation  or  a  prize.     The  sense  therefore  is :   Let  fate,  thai 


142  MACBETH.  [actiii,  sc.  i. 

Re-enter  Attendant,  with  two  Murderers. 

Now  go  to  the  door,  and  stay  there  till  we  call. — 

\Exit  Attendant. 
Was  it  not  yesterday  we  spoke  together  ? 

First  Mur.     It  was,  so  please  your  highness. 

Macb.  Well  then,  now 

Have  you  consider'd  of  my  speeches  ?     Know  75 

That  it  was  he  in  the  times  past  which  held  you 
So  under  fortune,  which  you  thought  had  been 
Our  innocent  self;  this  I  made  good  to  you 
In  our  last  conference,  pass*d  in  probation  with  you, 
How  you  were  borne  in  hand,  how  cross'd,  the  instruments,     80 

72.     Now]  om.  Pope,  +.  75-8i.     Khow„Jhem']  Rowe.    Seven 

go]  om,  Steev.  H.  Rowe.  lines,  ending  past,... /ortune,.,.se//e... con- 

74.     First     Mur.]     I.    Mur.     Steev.  ference,„.with  you:,„crost .\.Miem:  Yl, 

Murth.  Ff.  Sing.  ii. 

74,  75.  now.,, speeches  f]  Pope.  One  79.  Tmth  you]  om.  Steev.  conj.  and 
line,  Ff,  Sing.  ii.  Walker  conj.,  ending  the  line  how. 

75.  Have  you]  you  have  F^F^,  79~8l.  with. ..them]  Two  lines,  first 
Rowe,  4- .                                                            ending  rrwjV/  Huds.  ii. 

has  foredoomed  the  exaltation  of  the  sons  of  Banquo,  enter  the  lists  against  me,  with 
the  utmost  animosity,  in  defence  of  its  own  decrees,  which  I  will  endeavour  to 
invalidate,  whatever  be  the  danger. 

Clarendon.  Cotgrave  has:  *Combntre  d  oultrance.  To  fight  at  sharpe,  to  fight 
it  out,  or  to  the  vttermost;  not  to  spare  one  another  in  fighting.'  So  in  Holland's 
Pliny,  ii,  26:  *  Germanicus  Caesar  exhibited  a  shew  of  sword-fencers  at  utterance.' 

71.  murderers]  Clarendon.  These  two  are  not  assassins  by  profession,  as  is 
clear  by  what  follows,  but  soldiers  whose  fortunes,  according  to  Macbeth,  have  been 
ruined  by  Banquo's  influence. 

Coleridge  (p.  249).  Compare  Macbeth's  mode  of  working  on  the  murderers 
with  Schiller's  mistaken  scene  between  Butler,  Devercux,  and  Macdonald,  in  Wal- 
lenstein  (Part  II,  Act  IV,  ii).  The  comic  was  wholly  out  of  season.  Sh.  never 
introduces  it,  but  when  it  may  react  on  the  tragedy  by  harmonious  contrast. 

79.  conference]  Abbott  (?  46S).  See  note  II,  iv,  10. 

pass'd]  Clarendon.  I  proved  to  you  in  detail,  point  by  point.  The  word 
'pass'd'  is  used  in  the  same  sense  as  in  the  phrase  *  pass  in  review.' 

80.  borne]  Malone.  To  bear  in  hand  is  to  delude  by  encouraging  hope,  and 
holding  out  fair  prospects,  without  any  intention  of  performance. 

Nares.  The  expression  is  very  common  in  Sh.,  and  in  contemporary  writings. 

Elwin.  In  the  14th  of  Eliz.,  1572,  an  Act  was  passed  against  *such  as  practise 
abused  sciences,  whereby  they  bear  the  people  in  hand  that  they  can  tell  their  des- 
tinies, deaths,'  &c. 

White.  The  imperative  'bear  a  hand,' =  help  quickly,  so  commonly  used  on 
shipboard  and  in  warehouses,  is  an  idiom  cognate  to  this. 

instruments]  Abbott  (J  468).  See  note  II,  iv,  10. 


ACT  III.  sc.  i.l  MA  CBETH.  1 43 

Who  wrought  with  them,  and  all  things  else  that  might 
To  half  a  soul  and  to  a  notion  crazed 
Say  *  Thus  did  Banquo/ 

First  Mur,  You  made  it  known  to  us. 

Macb,     I  did  so ;  and  went  further,  which  is  now 
Our  point  of  second  meeting.     Do  you  find  85 

Your  patience  so  predominant  in  your  nature, 
That  you  can  let  this  go  ?     Are  you  so  gospell'd. 
To  pray  for  this  good  man  and  for  his  issue, 
Whose  heavy  hand  hath  bow'd  you  to  the  grave 
And  beggar'd  yours  for  ever  ? 

First  Mur,  We  are  men,  my  liege.  90 

Macb,     Ky,  in  the  catalogue  ye  go  for  men ; 
As  hounds  and  greyhounds,  mongrels,  spaniels,  curs, 
Shoughs,  water-rugs,  and  demi-wolves,  are  clept 
All  by  the  name  of  dogs :  the  valued  file 

81-83.     and..„.Banquo]  Two  lines,  Ff. 
first  ending  soul  Sing,  ii,  Huds.  ii.  93.     Shoughs"]   Steev.     Showghes  Ff, 

83.     Thus]  This  Allen.  Rowe,  + .     shocks  Cap.     Slouths  Johns. 

You us]    True,  you   made  it  conj.  (withdrawn). 

known  Pope,-t-.  cUpt]  Cap.  Dyce,  Glo.  Cam.  Cla. 

84-90.     L..,.ever?]  Rowe.     Ending  dipt    Ff,    Rowe,    Pope,      clep'd    Han. 

so: noiw...jneeting„.,predominanty Huds.  Sta.  White,  Ktly.     clepfd TYi^oh, 

goe?...,man,..,,hand.„.beggerd....£ver?  ct  cet. 

87.  gospeird]  Johnson.  Are  you  of  that  degree  of  precise  virtue? 

Grey  (ii,  146).  Alluding  to  our  Saviour's  precept:  Matt.,  v,  44. 

83.  To]  Abbott  (§  281).  In  relatival  constructions,  e.g.,  so. ...as,  so... .that,  &c.. 
one  of  the  two  can  be  omitted.  The  as  is  omitted  here :  *  So  gospell'd  (as)  To 
pray,*  &c. 

93.  Shoughs]  Johnson.  What  we  now  call  shocks. 

Steevens.  This  species  of  dogs  is  mentioned  in  Nashe*s  Lenten  Stuffe,  &c.,  1599: 
* a  trundle-tail,  tike,  or  shough  or  two.* 

demi-wolves]  Johnson.  Dog  bred  between  wolves  and  dogs,  like  the  Latin 
lydsci. 

clept]  Clarendon.  This  word  was  becoming  obsolete  in  Sh.*s  time.  He  uses  it, 
however,  in  Ham.,  I,  iv,  19,  and  in  Love's  Lab.  Lost,  V,  i,  23.  It  is  still  used  by 
children  at  play  in  the  Eastern  counties :  they  speak  of  *  cleping  sides,'  i.  e.,  calling 
sides,  at  prisoner's  base,  &c.     It  is  derived  from  the  Anglosaxon  cleopian, 

94.  valued  file]  Steevens.  Thnt  is,  the  file  or  list  where  the  value  and  peculiar 
qualities  of  everything  are  set  down,  in  contradistinction  to  what  he  immediately 
mentions,  the  bill  that  writes  them  all  alike.  File,  in  the  second  instance,  is  used  in 
the  same  sense  as  in  this,  and  with  a  reference  to  it :  Now  if  you  belong  to  any 
class  that  deserves  a  place  in  the  valuedyf/f  of  men,  and  are  not  of  the  lowest  rank, 
the  common  herd  of  mankind,  that  are  not  worth  distinguishing  from  each  other. 


144  MACBETH.  [actiii,  sc.  i. 

Distinguishes  the  swift,  the  slow,  the  subtle,  95 

The  housekeeper,  the  hunter,  every  one 

According  to  the  gift  which  bounteous  nature 

Hath  in  him  closed ;  whereby  he  does  receive 

Particular  addition,  from  the  bill 

That  writes  them  all  alike :  and  so  of  men.  icx) 

Now  if  you  haVe  a  station  in  the  file. 

Not  i'  the  worst  rank  of  manhood,  say  it, 

And  I  will  put  that  business  in  your  bosoms 

Whose  execution  takes  your  enemy  off. 

Grapples  you  to  the  heart  and  love  of  us,  105 

102.     Not  r   the\    And  not  in   the  say  iV]  Rowe.     sayU  Ff,  White, 

Rowe,  +  ,  Cap.  Steev.  Dyce  ii.     Not  in  Dyce  ii,  Huds.  ii. 
the  most  Ktly.  103.     that'\  the  F^F^,  Pope,  Han. 

worst\  worser  Jervis.  105.     heart'\  Pope,     heart;  Ff. 

File  and  list  are  synonymous,  as  in  V,  ii,  8,  of  this  play.  In  short,  *  the  valued  file ' 
is  the  catalogue  with  prices  annexed. 

Singer.  Such  a  list  of  dogs  may  be  found  in  Junius*s  Nomenclatory  by  Fleming. 

Clarendon.  Not  a  mere  catalogue,  but  a  catalogue  raisonni, 

96.  housekeeper]  Clarendon.  Guardian  of  the  house,  watch-dog.  In  Top- 
sell's  Hist,  of  Beasts  (1658),  the  'housekeeper'  is  enumerated  among  the  different 
kinds  of  dogs.     So  otKovpS^,  Aristophanes,  Vespa^  970. 

99.  addition]  See  I,  iii,  106. 

from]  Clarendon.  It  seems  more  natural  to  connect  *  from  *  with  particular,' 
which  involves  the  idea  of  distinction,  than  with  *  distinguishes,'  which  is  used  ab- 
.solutely  in  the  sense  of  *  defines.' 

bill]  Collier  (ed.  2).  The  'bill'  or  paper  in  which  they  are  written  all  alike: 
the  (MS)  has  quill  for  *  bill,'  and  perhaps  quill  ought  to  be  placed  in  the  text ;  but 
*  bill '  is  very  intelligible. 

Clarendon.  The  same  as  the  general  *  catalogue,'  line  91,  the  list  in  which  they 
were  written  without  any  distinction. 

RusHTON  (i,  69).  The  bill  (see  also  Merry  WiveSy  I,  i,  i-ii)  may  be  an  indict- 
ment, which  is  a  bill  or  declaration  of  complaint,  preferred  to  the  grand  jury  or  in- 
quest of  the  county.  Therein  must  be  set  forth  the  Christian  name,  surname,  and 
addition  of  the  offender,  &c. 

102.  worst]  Keightley.  A  syllable  is  wanting :  we  have  *  most  worst  *  in  Wint. 
Tale,  III,  ii,  180,  and  double  comparatives  and  superlatives  are  common. 

Abbott  {\  485).  N6t  in  |  the  tw?  |  rst  rank  |  .     See  II,  i,  20. 

102.  rank]  Knight.  In  the  preceding  part  of  the  speech  a  distinction  is  drawn 
between  the  catalogue  and  the  valued  file.  The  catalogue  contains  the  names  of 
all ;  the  valued  file  select  names.  So  in  these  lines  there  may  be  a  *  station  in  the 
file '  above  that  of  the  '  worst  rank.'  The  ranky  then,  is  the  row, — the/"/r  those  set 
apart  from  the  row,  for  superior  qualities.  Is  not  this  the  meaning  of  the  military 
term,  *  rank  and  file,'  which  is  still  in  use  ? 

104.  enemy]  Abbott  (}  468).  See  II,  iv,  10. 


ACT  III,  sc.  i.]  MA  CBETH.  1 45 

Who  wear  our  health  but  sickly  in  his  life, 
Which  in  his  death  were  perfect. 

Sec,  Mur,  I  am  one,  my  liege, 

Whom  the  vile  blows  and  buffets  of  the  world 
Have  so  incensed  that  I  am  reckless  what 
I  do  to  spite  the  world. 

First  Mur,  And  I  another  1 10 

So  weary  with  disasters,  tugg'd  with  fortune. 
That  I  would  set  my  life  on  any  chance, 
To  mend  it  or  be  rid  on't. 

Macb.  Both  of  you 

Know  Banquo  was  your  enemy. 

Both  Mur,  True,  my  lord. 

Macb,     So  is  he  mine,  and  in  such  bloody  distance  115 

That  every  minute  of  his  being  thrusts 
Against  my  near'st  of  life :  and  though  I  could 

107.     w)' /iV^^]  om.  Pop>e,  + .  astrous  tuggsVf^xh,    of  disastrous  tu^^s 

109.     Ifave]  Rowe.     I/ath  Ff,  H.  Rowe. 

109,110.     Ifave., ..do']  Rowe.      One  113,114.     Both...enemy\'Ro'Wt,  One 

line,  Ff,  Sta.  line,  Ff. 

III.    weary]    weary d   Cap.    Rann,  1 14.     Both  Mur.]   Dyce,  Glo.  Cam. 

Coll.  (MS),  Lettsom.  Cla.     Murth.  Ff,  +  ,  Cap.    2.  Mur.  Mai. 

with  disasters^  tug^d]  loith  dis-  et  cet. 

106,  107.  in]  Abbott  (}  162).  Metaphorically  used  for  *in  the  case  of,'  'about.* 

107.  I  am]  Abbott  (J  497).  [Contracted  *  I'm.*]     An  apparent  Alexandrine. 
[See  Ellis  On  Early  English  Pronunciation ^  Part  iii,  p.  944;  also  IV,  ii,  72, 

and  V,  iii,  5.     Ed.] 

III.  with]  Abbott  (§  193).  See  III,  i,  62. 

113.  on*t]  Clarendon.  For  *  of.'     Compare  I,  iii,  84,  and  III,  i,  130. 

11$.  bloody  distance]  Warburton.  Enmity. 

Steevens.  Such  a  distance  as  mortal  enemies  would  stand  at  from  each  other, 
when  their  quarrel  must  be  determined  by  the  sword.  The  metaphor  is  continued 
in  the  next  line. 

Elwin.  It  here  figuratively  represents  active  antagonism  in  feeling;  and  one, 
every  minute  of  whose  existence  threatens  to  destroy  that  which  sits  nearest  the  heart 
or  life  in  desire^  is  imaged  by  a  foe  in  mortal  combat,  whose  thrusts  are  incessantly 
directed  nearest  to  the  hearty  or  most  vital  part  of  the  body. 

Clarendon.  Alienation,  hostility,  variance.     The  word  is  not  again  used  by  Sh. 

in  this  sense.     Bacon  uses  it.  Essays,  xv,  p.  62 :  * the  dividing  and  breaking  of 

all  factions  .  .  .  and  setting  them  at  distance,  or  at  least  distrust  amongst  themselves, 
is  not  one  of  the  worst  remedies.*  '  To  set  at  distance '  exactly  expresses  the  Greek 
SuOT&ifaif  as  used  by  Aristophanes,  Vespa,  41 :  *t6v  d^furv  ^fitjv  (hi/XeTai  duardvai.* 
We  still  speak  of  *  distance  of  manner.' 

117.  near'st]  Clarendon.  My  most  vital  parts.  Compare  Rich.  II:  V,  i,  80, 
13  K 


146  MACBETH.  [act  in,  sc.  i. 

With  barefaced  power  sweep  him  from  my  sight 

And  bid  my  will  avouch  it,  yet  I  must  not, 

For  certain  friends  that  are  both  his  and  mine,  120 

Whose  loves  I  may  not  drop,  but  wail  his  fall 

Who  I  myself  struck  down :  and  thence  it  is 

122.     lVho\  Ff,  Rowe,  Cap.  Dyce,  Sta.  Glo.  Cam.  Cla.    Whom  Pope  et  cet. 

and  V,  ii,  11,  of  the  present  play.     Also  Meas.  for  Meas.,  Ill,  i,  17.     Webster,  The 
White  Devil,  p.  50,  ed.  Dyce,  1857  :  *  Defy  the  worst  of  fate.* 

119.  avouch  it]  Clarendon.  Order  that  my  will  and  pleasure  be  accepted  as 
the  justification  of  the  deed.  *  Avouch  *  or  *  avow '  is  from  the  French  avouer,  and 
the  Low  Latin  advocare,  *  to  claim  a  waif  or  stray,  to  claim  as  a  ward,  to  take  under 
one's  protection,'  hence  *  to  maintain  the  justice  of  a  cause  or  the  truth  of  a  state- 
ment.'    Compare  Meas.  for  Meas.,  IV,  ii,  2CX). 

120.  For]  Abbott  (J  147).  The  original  meaning  of  'for'  is  'before,*  *in  front 
of.*  A  man  who  stands  in  front  of  another  in  battle  may  either  stand  as  his  friend 
for  him  or  as  his  foe  against  him.  Hence  two  meanings  oi  for,  the  former  the 
more  common. 

(J  150)  For,  from  meaning  *in  front  of,*  came  naturally  to  mean  *in  behalf  of,* 
« for  the  sake  of,*  *  because  of.*  In  the  present  instance,  *  because  of  certain  friends,* 
&c.  This  use  was  much  more  common  than  with  us.  When  we  refer  to  the  past 
we  generally  use  *  because  of,*  reservingyi?r  for  the  future. 

120-122.  For.. .down]  Harry  Rowe.  In  the  court  of  criticism  let  the  following 
alteration  be  fairly  tried.     Timber  versus  Flesh  and  Blood : 

'  But  wail  his  fall  whom  I  myself  struck  down  : 
For  certain  friends  there  are,  both  his  and  mine, 
Whose  loves  I  may  not  drop  :  and  thence  it  Ls/  &c. 

121.  loves]  Clarendon.  We  should  say  *  whose  love.*  Compare  III,  ii,  53 ;  V, 
viii,  61,  and  Rich.  II :  IV,  i,  315  [note  ad  IJ],  The  plural  is  frecjuently  used  by  Sh. 
and  writers  of  the  sixteenth  and  seventeenth  centuries,  when  designating  an  attribute 
common  to  many,  in  cases  where  it  would  now  be  considered  a  solecism.  See  Lear, 
IV,  vi,  35;  Rich.  Ill:  IV,  i,  25;  Tim.  of  A.,  I,  i,  255;  Per.,  I,  i,  74;  Two  Gent., 
I,  iii,  48,  49;  Hen.  Vni :  III,  i,  68. 

may  not]  Abbott  (J  310).  In  *  I  may  not  come,'  may  would  with  us  mean  *  pos- 
sibility,* and  the  *not'  would  be  connected  with  *come'  instead  of  may;  *  my  not- 
coming  is  a  possibility.'  On  the  other  hand,  the  Elizabethans  frequently  connect 
the  *not*  with  may,  and  thus  with  them  '  I  may-uoi  come'  might  mean  '  I  can-not 
or  must-not  come.'  Thus  may  is  parallel  to  '  must '  in  the  present  instance.  Prob- 
ably the  disuse  of  may  in  *may-not'  (in  the  sense  of  *  must  not')  may  be  explained 
by  the  fact  that  *  may  not '  implies  compulsion,  and  may  has  therefore  been  sup- 
planted in  this  sense  by  the  more  compulsory  '  must.* 

wail]  Delius.  *  Wail  *  can  scarcely  be  connected  with  the  preceding  *  may,*  but  is 
more  properly  governed  by  must  understood.  [To  same  effect,  Abbott  (J  385),  sec 
note  III,  i,  47.     Ed.] 

121,  122.  his.. .Who]  Abbott  (J  218).  His,  her,  &c.,  being  the  genitives  of  he, 
she,  &c.,  may  stand  as  the  antecedent  of  a  relative. 

122.  Who]  Clarendon.  There  is  no  doubt  that  *who'  in  Sh.'s  time  was  fic- 


ACT  III,  sc.  i.]  MA  CBETH.  1 47 

That  I  to  your  assistance  do  make  love, 

Masking  the  business  from  the  common  eye 

For  sundry  weighty  reasons. 

Sec,  Mur.  We  shall,  my  lord,  125 

Perform  what  you  command  us. 
First  Mur.  Though  our  lives — 

Macb.     Your  spirits   shine  through  you.     Within  this  hour 
at  most 

I  will  advise  you  where  to  plant  yourselves, 

Acquaint  you  with  the  perfect  spy  o'  the  time, 

127.  Pope.  Two  lines,  Ff.  129.  y<m.,..spy  0*  the]  you  with  the 
IVithin]  In  Pope,  +  .  perfect  spot^  the  Tyrwhitt.  you  with 
at  most]  om.  Steev.  conj.                      the  perfectry  o*  the  Becket.    you  with 

1 28.  yourselves^  yourselves,  Steev.  the  precincts  by  the  Jackson,  yoit^  with 
Knt.  a  perfect  spy,  0'  the  Coll.  (MS),  White. 

129.  you]  ye  Seymour. 

quently  used  for  the  objective  case,  as  it  still  is  colloquially.  See  III,  iv,  42 ;  IV, 
iii,  171 ;  Mer.  of  Ven.,  I,  ii,  21,  and  II,  vi,  30;  Two  Gent.,  Ill,  i,  2CX).  [To  the 
same  effect,  see  Abbott,  \  274.     Ed.J 

12$.  shall]  Clarendon.  In  modern  English,  *  we  will.*  Compare  III,  ii,  29; 
IV,  iii,  220;  V,  viii,  60. 

127.  Clarendon.  Compare  I,  ii,  46,  and  Ham.,  Ill,  iv,  119:  'Forth  at  your 
eyes  your  spirits  wildly  peep.* 

129.  perfect  spy]  Johnson.  What  is  meant  by  this  passage  will  be  found  diffi- 
cult to  explain,  and  therefore  sense  will  be  cheaply  gained  by  a  slight  alteration. 
Macbeth  is  assuring  the  assassins  that  they  shall  not  want  directions  to  find  Banquo, 
and  therefore  says :  /  will Acquaint  you  with  a  perfect  spy  0^  th^  time.  Ac- 
cordingly, a  third  murderer  joins  them  afterwards  at  the  place  of  action. 

Heath  (Revisal,  &c.,  p.  393).  The  word  *  spy  *  is  here  used  for  espy al ox  discovery^ 
and  the  phrase  means  the  exact  intimation  of  the  precise  time,  or  as  Sh.  immediately 
interprets  his  own  words  :  '  the  moment  on't.'  Johnson's  supposition  that  the  *  spy  * 
is  the  third  murderer  cannot  be  con-ect ;  for  Macbeth  promises  the  two  that  he  will 
make  them  acquainted  with  this  perfect  spy,  which  yet  he  is  so  far  from  doing,  that 
tlie  third  murderer  when  he  joins  the  others  is  absolutely  unknown  to  them. 

M.  Mason.  *  With '  has  here  the  force  of  by  ;  and  the  meaning  of  the  passage  is  : 
•  I  will  let  you  know,  by  the  person  best  informed,  of  the  exact  moment  in  which  the 
business  is  to  be  done.' 

Steevens.  This  passage  needs  no  reformation  but  that  of  a  single  point.  After 
'yourselves*  in  line  128,  I  place  a  full  stop,  as  no  further  instructions  could  be 
given  by  Macbeth,  the  hour  of  Banquo's  return  being  quite  uncertain.  Macbeth 
therefore  adds  :  *  Acquaint  ^m/,*  &c.,  i.  e.  in  ancient  language,  *  acquaint  ^<7ttrj^/zvj ' 
with  the  exact  time  most  favourable  to  your  purposes ;  for  such  a  moment  must  be 
spied  out  by  you,  be  selected  by  your  own  attention  and  scrupulous  observation. 
Macbeth  in  the  intervening  time  might  have  learned  from  some  of  Banquo*s  attend- 
ants which  way  he  had  ridden  out,  and  therefore  could  tell  the  murderers  where  to 


1 48  MA  CBETH.  [act  hi.  sc.  i. 

The  moment  on't;  for't  must  be  done  to-night,  130 

And  something  from  the  palace ;  always  thought 

131.     always  th(ntght\  a  way  ^thought  131,132.     always clearness  :'\oxq.. 

Jackson.  Pope. 

plant  themselves  so  as  to  cut  him  off  on  his  return ;  but  who  could  ascertain  the 
precise  hour  of  his  arrival,  except  the  ruffians  who  watched  for  that  purpose  ? 

BoswELL.  I  apprehend  it  means  the  very  moment  you  are  to  look  for  or  expect ^ 
not  [as  Ma  LONE  says]  when  you  may  look  out  for,  Banquo. 

Singer.  That  is,  the  exact  time  when  you  may  look  out  or  lie  in  wait  for  him. 

Elwin.  Spy  is  here  a  noun,  from  the  verb  to  spy^  and  signifies  discovery  by  secresy 
and  artifice.  *  I  will  acquaint  you  with  the:  infallible  discovery  by  secret  and  cunning 
examination^  of  the  time  of  Banquo's  coming  by. 

Collier  (ed.  2).  The  exact  moment ;  but  the  expression  has  no  parallel  that  we 
are  aware  of,  and  the  (MS)  puts  it  *with  a  perfect  spy  o*  the  time,'  as  if  Macbeth 
referred  to  some  *  perfect  spy  *  who  was  to  give  the  two  Murderers  notice  of  the 
proper  time. 

White.  I  have  no  hesitation  in  adopting  the  reading  of  the  Coll.  (MS).  Even 
did  not  this  speech  bear  so  evidently  the  marks  of  hasty  production,  the  use  of  *  with  * 
for  *  by '  is  common  enough  in  our  old  writers  to  justify  this  construction. 

Bailey  (ii,  28).  I  propose  *  the  perfect  span  o'  the  time,*  i.  e.,  the  exact  interval 
of  time,  how  soon  it  will  be,  *  the  moment  on't.* 

Clarke.  «The  precise  time  when  you  may  espy  him  coming;*  *the  exact  time 
at  which  you  may  expect  to  see  him  approach,  and  may  despatch  him.*  That  this 
sense  is  implied  in  the  phrase,  we  perceive  from  the  peculiar  use  of  *  it  *  in  the  ex- 
pressions, *  the  moment  on't,'  and  *  for't  must  be  done  to-night  ;*  alluding  to  an  un- 
named but  perfectly  understood  deed. 

Clarendon.  If  the  text  be  right,  it  may  bear  one  of  two  meanings :  first,  I  will 
acquaint  you  with  the  most  accurate  observation  of  the  time,  i.  e.,  with  the  result  of 
the  most  accurate  observation ;  or  secondly,  *  the  spy  of  the  time '  may  mean  the 
man  who  joins  the  murderers  in  Scene  iii,  and  *  delivers  their  offices.'  But  we  have 
no  examples  of  the  use  of  the  word  *  spy '  in  the  former  sense,  and  according  to  the 
second  interpretation  we  should  rather  expect  *  a  perfect  spy*  than  *  the  perfect  spy.' 
...  *  The  perfect'st  spy '  might  also  be  suggested,  or  possibly  *  the  perfect'st  eye,'  a 
bold  metaphor,  not  alien  from  Sh.'s  manner. 

130.  on't]  Delius.  That  is,  0/  the  time. 

Clarendon.  It  may  mean  either  *  of  the  time  *  or  *  of  the  deed.* 

131.  something]  Clarendon.  Somewhat.  See  Wint.  Tale,  V,  iii,  23.  [To  the 
same  effect,  Abbott,  §  68.] 

from]  Abbott  (J  158).  From  is  frequently  used  in  the  sense  of  'apart  from,' 
*  away  from,'  without  a  verb  of  motion. 

always  thought]  Steevens.  That  is,  you  must  manage  matters  so,  that  through- 
out the  whole  transaction,  I  may  stand  clear  of  suspicion. 

White.  A  very  loose  and  elliptical  phrase  for  *it  must  be  always  kept  in  mind 
that  I  require  to  be  cleared  of  all  connection  with  this  deed.' 

Bailey.  I  propose  *  always  note  that  I,*  &c.,  i.  e.,  always  bear  in  mind  that  I  must 
be  kept  clear  of  suspicion  in  this  business. 

Clarendon.  *  Thought  *  is  here  the  participle  passive  put  absolutely. 


ACT  III.  sc.  i.]  MA  CBETH.  1 49 

That  I  require  a  clearness :  and  with  him, — 

To  leave  no  rubs  nor  botches  in  the  work, — 

Fleance  his  son,  that  keeps  him  company, 

Whose  absence  is  no  less  material  to  me  135 

Than  is  his  father's,  must  embrace  the  fate 

Of  that  dark  hour.     Resolve  yourselves  apart : 

rU  come  to  you  anon. 

Both  Mur.  We  are  resolved,  my  lord. 

Macb.     ril  call  upon  you  straight :  abide  within. 

\Exeunt  Murderers, 
It  is  concluded: — Banquo,  thy  soul's  flight,  140 

If  it  find  heaven,  must  find  it  out  to-night.  \ExiL 

138.     Both   Mur.]    Dyce,   Sta.   Glo.  13S.     my  lord^  om.  Han. 

Cam.   Cla.     Murth.    Ff, +  ,   Cap.   Mai.  139.     [Exeunt   Murderers.]    Theob. 

Steev.     2  Mur.  Reed  (1803)  et  cet.  om.  Ff,  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.  Mai.  Steev. 

toyou\  om.  Steev.  conj.  Sing.  Knt,  Ktly. 

Staunton  {^Tke  Athemeumy  2  November,  1872).  This  is  neither  good  sense  nor 
good  English.  Read  '  Always  with  a  thought.'  And  compare  Meas.  for  Meas., 
IV,  ii,  127. 

[See  Holinshed,  Appendix,  p.  365.     Ed.] 

132.  clearness]  Elwin.  This  means  here,  an  exemption  from  suspicion^  as  regards 
himself;  and  a  clearness  or  completeness^  as  regards  the  work  to  be  done. 

133.  rubs]  Clarendon.  [Note  on  Rich.  H ;  HI,  iv,  4.]  In  a  game  of  bowls, 
when  a  bowl  was  diverted  from  its  course  by  an  impediment,  it  was  said  to  *  rub.' 
Cotgrave  gives  *  Saut :  m.  A  leape,  sault,  bound,  skip,  iumpe ;  also  (at  Bowles)  a 
rub.'  *  But  as  a  rubbe  to  an  overthrown  bowl  proves  an  helpe  by  hindering  it ;  so 
afflictions  bring  the  souls  of  God's  Saints  to  the  mark.' — Fuller,  Holy  State^  Bk  i, 
ch.  II. 

138.  to  you]  Abbott  (J  497).  Apparent  Alexandrine.     See  IV,  ii,  72. 

140.  Hunter.  Negotiations  of  this  kind  with  assassins  is  now  a  thing  so  much 
unknown  that  this  scene  loses  something  of  its  effect  from  the  incredulity  with  which 
we  peruse  it.  But  in  the  age  of  Elizabeth  such  negotiations  were  not  very  uncom- 
mon. An  instance  had  recently  occurred  in  the  neighborhood  of  Stratford.  Lodo- 
wick  Grevile,  who  dwelt  at  Sesoncote,  in  Gloucestershire,  and  at  Milcote,  in  War- 
wickshire, coveting  the  estate  of  one  Webb,  his  tenant,  plotted  to  murder  him  and 
get  the  estate  by  a  forged  will.  This  was  successfully  accomplished  by  the  aid 
of  two  servants  whom  Grevile  engaged  to  do  the  deed.  Fearing  detection,  one 
of  the  assassins  afterwards  murdered  his  comrade.  The  body  was  found,  and 
the  investigation  led  to  the  arrest  and  conviction  of  Grevile  and  his  servant,  the 
surviving  murderer.  Grevile  stood  mute,  and  was  pressed  to  death  on  November 
14,  1589.  The  circumstance  must  have  been  well  known  to  Sh.,  as  the  Greviles 
were  at  this  time  patrons  of  the  living  of  Stratford. 


1 50  MACBETH.  [act  hi.  sc.  ii. 

Scene  II.     The  same.    Another  Room, 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth  and  a  Servant. 

Lady  M,     Is  Banquo  gone  from  court  ? 

Serv-    Ay,  madam,  but  returns  again  to-night. 

Lady  M,     Say  to  the  king,  I  would  attend  his  leisure 
For  a  few  words. 

Serv.  Madam,  I  will.  [£r// 

Lady  M.  Nought's  had,  all's  spent, 

Where  our  desire  is  got  without  content :  5 

'Tis  safer  to  be  that  which  we  destroy 
Than  by  destruction  dwell  in  doubtful  joy. — 

Enter  Macbeth. 

How  now,  my  Lord !  why  do  you  keep  alone, 

Scene  ii.]  om.  Rowe.    Scene  hi.  Glo. 

Pope,  +  .  4.  Madam'\  om.  Seymour. 

The ]   Cap.     Another  Apart-  Nought's  had^om,%\^^v,  (:oxi], 

ment  in  the  Palace.  Theob.   The  Palace.  6.  safer\  better  Han.  Hunter. 

4-7.  Nought  .  .  .  joy]  Strutt  (Seymour's  Remarks^  &c.  i,  202).  These  foui 
lines  seem  to  belong  to  Macbeth,  who  utters  them  as  he  enters,  and  at  their  conclu 
sion  is  addressed  by  the  lady,  *  How  now/  &c.  The  querulous  spirit  which  the) 
breathe  is  much  more  in  character  with  Macbeth  than  with  his  wife. 

Hunter.  When  the  servant  has  been  dismissed  to  summon  the  thane  to  his  lady's 
presence,  Macbeth  enters  unexpectedly  to  the  lady,  muttering  to  himself  these 
words,  unconscious  of  her  presence.  Lady  M.  hears  what  he  says,  and  breaks  in 
upon  him  with  *  How  now,'  &c.  What  follows  is  said  by  Macbeth  more  than  half 
aside.  At  least  it  is  not  said  dialogue-wise  with  the  lady,  who  knew  nothing  of  his 
intentions  respecting  Banquo. 

Clarke.  This  brief  soliloquy  allows  us  to  see  the  deep-seated  misery  of  the  mur- 
deress, the  profound  melancholy  in  which  she  is  secretly  steeped;  while,  on  the 
instant  that  she  sees  her  husband,  she  can  rally  her  forces,  assume  exterior  fortitude, 
and  resume  her  accustomed  hardness  of  manner,  with  which  to  stimulate  him  by 
remonstrance  almost  amounting  to  reproach. 

Gericke  (p.  47).  This  profound  sigh  from  the  depths  of  a  deeply-wounded  soul 
is  the  key  to  all  that  we  afterwards  hear  and  learn  of  Lady  Macbeth.  A  complaint 
has  been  urged  that  between  her  first  and  her  last  appearance  the  connecting  link, 
the  bridge,  is  wanting :  here,  and  only  here,  is  this  bridge  supplied.  Here,  for  an 
instant,  we  overhear  her,  and  from  her  own  lips  learn  what  her  pride,  her  love  for 
Macbeth  even,  will  not  suffer  to  be  uttered  aloud ;  it  is  what  she  convulsively  locks 
in  her  breast,  and  what  at  last  breaks  her  heart.  This  short  monologue  is  the  sole 
preparation  for  the  sleep-walking  and  the  death  of  the  woman ;  her  death  would  bi* 
unintelligible  did  we  not  here  see  the  beginning  of  the  end. 


ACT  III.  sc.  ii.]  MA CBETH.  1 5 1 

Of  sorriest  fancies  your  companions  making ; 
Using  those  thoughts  which  should  indeed  have  died  10 

With  them  they  think  on  ?     Things  without  all  remedy 
Should  be  without  regard :  what's  done  is  done. 
Macb,     We  have  scotched  the  snake,  not  kill'd  it : 

9.  fancus\  francies  Y ^,  1 3.     scotch^ d'\  Theob.     scorched  Ff, 

11.  fl//]  om.  Han.  Stecv.  Sing,  i,        Rowe,  Pope  i,  H.  Rowe. 

Coll.  ii  (MS). 

10.  Using]  Staunton  {The  Athetujtum,  2  November,  1872).  I  think  that  the 
context  requires  some  word  implying  that  Macbeth  cherished  remorseful  thoughts, 
and  would  suggest  ^Nursing  those  thoughts,'  &c.  As  there  are  certain  words  which 
the  old  compositors  often  adopted  erroneously,  so  there  are  letters  which  constantly 
misled  them.     The  letter  V  is  a  remarkable  instance. 

Clarendon.  Keeping  company  with,  entertaining  familiarly.  Compare  Pericles, 
I,  ii,  2-6.     We  have  the  Greek  XPV^^^  ^nd  the  Latin  uti  with  a  similar  meaning. 

11.  without  all]  Clarendon.  We  should  say  *  without  any  remedy,*  or  'beyond 
all  remedy.*  For  'without'  in  the  sense  of  'beyond*  see  Mid.  N.  D.,  IV,  i,  150. 
This  metaphorical  sense  comes  immediately  from  that  of  '  outside  of,*  as  <  without 
the  city,*  'without  the  camp.'  For  'all*  compare  Spenser,  Hymn  of  Heavenly 
Love,  line  149:  'Without  all  blemish  or  reproachful  blame.*  [To  the  same  effect, 
see  Abbott,  J?  12,  197.] 

remedy]  Abbott  (}  468).  See  U,  iv,  10. 
[Compare  Wint.  Tale,  III,  ii,  223.  Ed.] 

12.  13.  Abbott  (J  513).  The  Amphibious  Section. 

12.  what's  .  .  .  done]  Anon.  Lady  M.  repeats  this  in  her  sleeping  scene,  V, 
i,  62. 

13.  scotched]  Theobald  {Sh,  Restored^  1726,  p.  18$).  Sh.,  I  am  very  well  per- 
suaded, had  this  notion  in  his  head  (how  true  in  fact,  I  will  not  pretend  to  deter- 
mine,) that  if  you  cut  a  serpent,  or  worm,  asunder,  there  is  such  an  unctious  quality 
in  their  blood  that  the  dismembered  parts,  being  placed  near  enough  to  touch  each 
other,  will  cement  and  become  whole  again.  Macbeth  considers  Duncan's  sons  so 
much  as  members  of  their  Father  that  though  he  has  cut  off"  the  old  man,  he  has  not 
entirely  killed  him,  but  he'll  cement  and  close  again  in  the  lives  of  his  sons.  Sh. 
certainly  wrote  scotched.  To  scotch^  however  the  Generality  of  our  Dictionaries 
happen  to  omit  the  Word,  signifies,  to  notchj  slashy  hack^  cuty  with  Twigs,  Swords, 
&c.,  and  so  our  Poet  more  than  once  has  used  it  in  his  works.     See  Cor.  IV,  v,  198. 

Upton  (p.  170).  This  learned  and  elegant  allusion  \^ scorched  the  snake']  is  to 
the  story  of  the  Hydra. 

Harry  Rowe.  My  Prompter,  who  is  a  North-Country  man,  says  that  there  is  no 
such  word  as  scotched.  It  is  scutched,  a  word  chiefly  used  by  the  growers  and  mann- 
facturers  of  hemp  and  flax,  and  implies  beating,  bruising,  or  dividing.  The  wooden- 
headed  fellow  of  my  company,  who  plays  the  clown,  says  tliat  snakes  are  soon  killed 
by  lashing  them  with  switches,  and  that  by  smart  strokes  their  bodies  may  be  di- 
vided. This  has  induced  some  of  the  gentlemen  of  my  green-room  to  adopt '  We 
have  njitch^d  the  snake,'  &c.  The  stuffed  figure  of  my  company,  who  plays  the 
Serpent  in  '  The  History  of  Adam  and  Eve,*  has  suggested  a  reading  that  is  more 
conformable  to  natural  history :  *  We  have  bruised  the  snake  .  .  .  She'll  coil^  &c. 


1 52  MACBETH.  [act  hi,  sc.  ii. 

She'll  close  and  be  herself,  whilst  our  poor  malice 

Remains  in  danger  of  her  former  tooth.  1 5 

But  let  the  frame  of  things  disjoint,  both  the  worlds  suffer, 

Ere  we  will  eat  our  meal  in  fear,  and  sleep 

In  the  affliction  of  these  terrible  dreams 

16.     Pope.     Two  lines,  the  first  end-  disjoint ^  and  all  things  suffer  Pope,  +. 

ing  </ij/Wi«/,  Ff,  Var.  Sing,  i,  Coll.  Dyce  16.  frame\   eternal  framt  Coll.    ii 

i,  White.     The  first  ending  let  Steev.  (MS). 

16.     the  frame.. .suffer"]  both  worlds 

My  Prompter  wishes  the  original  text  to  be  continued,  only  substituting  coil  for '  close,' 
and  this  he  calls  a  good  emendation.  I  have  accordingly  adopted  it.  After  all,  I 
do  not  consider  Sh.  as  under  any  obligations  to  his  scotching ,  scutching,  bruising,  and 
switching  commentators. 

Halliwell.  To  score  or  cut  in  a  slight  manner.  *  If  thou  wilt  have  the  Doc- 
tour  for  an  anatomic,  thou  shalt;  doo  but  speake  the  word,  and  I  am  the  man  to 
deliver  him  to  thee  to  be  scotcht  and  carbonadoed.* — Nash's  Have  with  You  to  Saf- 
fron Walden,  1596. 

Clarendon.  •  Scorch'd  *  is  said  to  be  derived  from  the  French  escorcher,  to  strip 
off  the  bark  or  skin.  From  the  next  line  it  is  clear  that  we  want  a  word  with  a 
stronger  sense  here. 

16.  frame]  Collier  (ed.  2).  The  *  eternal  frame'  of  the  (MS)  cures  an  obvious 
defect  in  the  line,  though  it  leaves  what  follows  a  hemistich,  as  possibly  the  poet 
intended ;  at  all  events,  one  error  is  remedied. 

But  .  .  .  sufifer]  Dyce.  Ought  we  to  print  as  one  line  ?  or  is  the  passage  muti- 
lated? 

White.  These  lines  are  very  imperfect.  But  it  should  be  observed  that  other 
lines  in  this  speech,  and  several  throughout  this  Scene,  are  in  the  same  condition. 

Bailey  (ii,  29).  It  happens  that  while  here  'disjoint'  is  a  neuter  verb,  Sh.  em- 
ploys it  in  only  one  other  passage,  and  then  as  a  passive  participle.  See  Ham.  I, 
ii,  20.  Nor  is  the  word,  as  far  as  my  researches  extend,  used  by  any  other  writer  as 
a  neuter  verb,  in  which  capacity  it  must  be  excessively  harsh.  Hence  it  is  probable 
that  some  phrase  has  dropped  out  of  the  line  which  would  turn  *  disjoint  *  into  a 
passive  participle.     Such  a  word  we  have,  I  think,  in  the  verb  become. 

16-19.  Coleridge  {Lectures,  &c.  i,  249).  Ever  and  ever  mistaking  the  anguish 
of  conscience  for  fears  of  selfishness,  and  thus  as  a  punishment  of  that  selfishness, 
plunging  still  deeper  in  guilt  and  ruin. 

Hudson.  But  is  it  not  the  natural  result  of  an  imagination  so  redundant  and 
excitable  as  his,  that  the  agonies  of  remorse  should  project  and  embody  themselves 
in  imaginary  terrors,  and  so,  for  security  against  these,  put  him  upon  new  crimes  ? 

both  the  worlds]  Clarendon.  The  terrestrial  and  celestial.  Compare  Ham. 
IV,  V,  134,  where  the  meaning  is  different,  viz. :  *  this  world  and  the  next.' 

suffer]  Bailey  (ii,  30).  Taking  a  hint  from  The  Temp.,  IV,  i,  154,  I  propose  to 
read  *  suffer  dissolution* 

18.  terrible  dreams]  Clarendon.  Those  who  have  seen  Miss  Helen  Faucii 
play  Lady  Macbeth  will  remember  how  she  shuddered  at  the  mention  of  the  *  terri- 
ble dreams,'  with  which  she  too  was  shaken.  The  sleep-walking  scene  was  doubt- 
less in  the  poet's  mind  already. 


ACT  III,  sc.  u.]  MA CBETH.  1 53 

That  shake  us  nightly :  better  be  with  the  dead, 

Whom  we,  to  gain  our  place,  have  sent  to  peace,  20 

20.  place]  FgFjF^,  Rowe,  Pope,  Var.  Sing.  Huds.  Sta.  Dyce  ii.  setii 
Theob.  Han.  Warb.  Johns.  Steev.  Mai.         Ktly.    peace  F,,  et  cct. 

20.  place]  Knight.  The  repetition  of  the  word  'peace'  seems  very  much  in 
Sh.'s  manner ;  and  as  every  one  who  commits  a  crime,  such  as  that  of  Macbeth,  pro- 
poses to  himself,  in  the  result,  happiness,  which  is  another  name  for  peace, — as  the 
very  promptings  to  the  crime  disturb  his  peace, — we  think  there  b  something  much 
higher  in  the  sentiment  conveyed  by  the  original  word  than  in  that  of  place.  In  the 
very  contemplation  of  the  nlurder  of  Banquo,  Macbeth  is  vainly  seeking  for  peace. 
Banquo  is  the  object  that  makes  him  eat  his  meal  in  fear  and  sleep  in  terrible  dreams. 
His  death,  therefore,  is  determined,  and  then  comes  the  fearful  lesson,  *  Better  be 
with,*  &c.     There  b  no  peace  with  the  wicked. 

Collier.  F,  poorly  substitutes  place  for  *  peace,*  perhaps  by  a  misprint. 

Elwin.  The  alteration  of  F^  destroys  the  force  of  the  original  antithesis,  as  the 
dead  have  not  place.  The  whole  tenor  of  the  speech  shows  that  it  is  not  place^  but 
cessations  of  wild  longings  and  apprehensions ^  that  is  the  point  on  which  the  thoughts 
of  the  speaker  are  riveted,  and  he  is  making  a  comparison  between  his  own  case 
and  that  of  Duncan,  the  sense  of  the  line  being,  Whom  we^  to  gain  our  content,  hatfe 
helped  to  contentment.  He  feels,  that  whatsoever  be  the  object  aimed  at,  relief  from 
the  tortures  of  unsatisfied  desire  is  the  ultimate  motive  of  his  action.  In  short,  as 
any  mind  would  do,  thus  painfully  and  intensely  strung,  he  recognizes,  in  his  own 
sensations,  the  abstract  cause  of  his  actions,  instead  of  contemplating  the  material 
upon  which  it  had  sought,  but  failed,  to  gratify  itself :  he  forgets  the  crown  in  the 
strife  in  which  its  attainment  has  involved  him. 

Hudson.  Peace  is  nowise  that  which  Macbeth  has  been  seeking ;  his  end  was 
simply  to  gain  the  throne,  the  place  which  he  now  holds,  and  the  fear  of  losing 
which  is  the  very  thing  that  keeps  peace  from  him. 

Singer  (ed.  2).  Sh.  would  hardly  have  written  *to  gain  our  peace.*  Macbeth 
gained  his  place  by  the  murder  of  Duncan,  but  certainly  did  not  obtain  peace ,  in  any 
sense  of  the  word. 

Dyce  (ed.  i).  The  lection  of  F,  is  not  to  be  hastily  discarded,  when  we  consider 
what  a  fondness  Sh.  has  for  the  rep>etition  of  words. 

Lettsom  (ap.  Dyce,  ed.  2).  The  possessive  pronoun  *  our*  is  fatal  to  the  reading 
of  Fj.  .  .  .  The  editor  of  F^  could  not  have  been  offended  by  a  quibble,  for  he  must 
have  been  *  to  the  manner  bom.'  He,  no  doubt,  felt  that  the  notion  of  obtaining 
peace  by  murdering  a  king  M'as  absurd,  and  could  never  have  entered  into  the  head 
of  a  public  man. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  Compare  what  Lady  M.  has  previously  said:  I,  v,  68. 

Clarke.  *  Peace  *  precisely  suits  with  that  which  Macbeth  has  aimed  at,  in  order 
to  appease  his  restless  ambition. 

Bailey  (ii,  31).  The  antithesis  was  meant  to  be  with  those  horrible  mental  tor- 
ments ;  and  he  says  in  effect :  *  We  have  purchased  all  this  agony  by  sending  him  to 
the  peace  of  death ;  our  share  in  the  result  is  restless  misery ;  his,  is  the  quiet  of  the 
grave.*  Agreeably  to  this  view,  I  propose  to  read,  *  Whom  we,  to  gain  our  pangs, 
have  sent  io  peace.* 

Keightley.  The  first  *  peace  *  was  probably  suggested,  in  the  usual  manner,  by 
the  second.     We  might  read  seat  or  some  such  word.    There  is  one  most  remark 


154  ^^  CBETH.  [ACT  HI,  sc.  ii. 

Than  on  the  torture  of  the  mind  to  lie 

In  restless  ecstasy.     Duncan  is  in  his  grave ; 

After  life's  fitful  fever  he  sleeps  well ; 

Treason  has  done  his  worst :  nor  steel,  nor  poison, 

Malice  domestic,  foreign  levy,  nothing,  25 

Can  touch  him  further. 

Lady  M.  Come  on ; 

Gentle  my  lord,  sleek  o*er  your  rugged  looks ; 
Be  bright  and  jovial  among  your  guests  to-night. 

Macb,     So  shall  I,  love ;  and  so,  I  pray,  be  you : 
Let  your  remembrance  apply  to  Banquo ;  30 

22.     Rowe.     Two  lines,  Ff.  26.    further]  farther  Coll.  White. 

Duncan  is  in  his]  Duncan* s  in^s  26-28.     Come...  Jo-night]  End  lines, 

Walker.  lord. ..jovial.. .to-night.  Sing.  ii. 

26-32.    Can.,.we]  End  the  lines  lord^  28.     among]  *mong  F^F^F^,  + ,  Steev. 

,.,jotnal...love;.,.remembrance...both...we  30.     remembrance]        rememberance 

Cap.  Steev.  (1773,  1778,  1785),  Mai.  Ktly. 

Rann,  Var.  Sing,  i,  Walker,  Dyce  ii,  apply]  still  apply  F.F^F^,  +. 
Huds.  ii. 

• 

able  case  of  substitution  to  which  sufficient  attention  has  never  been  given  by  the 
critics.  It  may  be  termed  reaction  or  repetition,  and  arises  from  the  impression 
made  by  some  particular  word  on  the  mind  of  the  transcriber  or  printer,  or  even  of 
the  writer  himself. — p.  64. 

Clarendon.  There  is  no  necessity  to  make  any  change.  For  the  first  *  peace  * 
compare  III,  i,  47,  48 :  '  To  be  thus  is  nothing;  But  to  be  safely  thus;'  and  for  the 
second,  IV,  iii,  179  and  note. 

21.  on]  Clarendon.  The  'torture  of  the  mind'  is  compared  to  the  rack;  hence 
the  use  of  this  preposition. 

22.  ecstasy]  Nares.  In  the  usage  of  Sh.  it  stands  for  every  species  of  aliena- 
tion of  mind,  whether  temporary  or  pennanent,  proceeding  from  joy,  sorrow,  won- 
der, or  any  other  exciting  cause;  and  this  certainly  suits  with  the  etymology: 
iKoraai^. 

23.  fitful  fever]  Clarendon.  An  intermittent  fever.  Compare  Meas.  for  Meas. 
Ill,  i,  75- 

26.  touch]  Staunton  (Note  on  Cym.  I,  i,  135).  A  touch,  in  old  language,  was 
often  used  to  express  a  pang,  a  wound,  or  any  acute  pain,  moral  or  physical,  as  in 
this  passage  from  Cym. ;  as  also  in  the  often-quoted,  but  perhaps  not  always  under- 
stood, sentiment  from  Tro.  and  Cres.,  Ill,  iii,  175,  *  One  touch  of  nature,'  &c.,  and 
in  [the  present  line  from  Macbeth]. 

27.  sleek]  Clarendon.  This  is  not  used  elsewhere  as  a  verb  by  Sh.  In  Mil- 
ton's Comus,  882,  we  have  *  Sleeking  her  soft  alluring  locks.*  The  word,  verb  or 
adjective,  is  almost  always  applied  to  the  hair. 

28.  among]  Abbott  ({  460).  The  prefix  is  dropped  in  pronunciation. 

30.  remembrance]  Steevens.  Here  employed  as  a  quadrisyllable.  As  in 
Twelfth  Night,  I,  i,  32. 

apply]  Clarendon.  Attach  itself,  be  specially  devoted.     So  in  Bacon,  Essay  Hi. 


ACT  III,  sc.  ii.]  MA  CBETH.  1 5  5 

Present  him  eminence,  both  with  eye  and  tongue : 

Unsafe  the  while,  that  we 

Must  lave  our  honours  in  these  flattering  streams, 

32.      Unsafe  the  while'\  Vouchsafe  the        ...are,    Rowe.     honours....  faces are, 

while  your  presence. — C?,  Bullock.*  Pope,  + ,  Coll.  Huds.  i.  honours.,.vi*ards 

32-3$.    Unsafe....are.'\    Steev.    1793.  ,.^are.  Ktly. 

End  \\TieSflave...Mreams;...hearts...are.  33.  flattering]  so  flattering 'Rovrt^  +. 
Ff,  White.    Honours. ..streafnSt...IIeartSt 

p.  211 :  *  To  apply  ones  selfe  to  others  is  good.'  Compare  Ant.  and  Cleop.  V,  ii, 
126,  where  we  should  say :  *  If  you  adapt  or  accommodate  yourself.* 

31.  eminence]  Warburton.  Do  him  the  highest  honours. 

Clarendon.  Observe  that  Lady  M.  as  yet  knows  nothing  of  her  husband's  de* 
signs  against  Banquo's  life. 

32-35.  Unsafe. ..are]  Steevens.  It  is  a  sure  sign  that  our  royalty  is  unsafe,  when 
it  must  descend  to  flattery,  and  stoop  to  dissimulation.  And  yet  I  cannot  help  sup- 
posing (from  the  hemistich.  Unsafe  the  while  that  we)  some  words  to  be  wanting 
which  originally  rendered  the  sentiment  less  obscure.  Sh.  might  have  written :  Un- 
safe the  while  it  is  for  us,  that  we,  &c. 

Elwin.  Macbeth  calls  upon  his  wife  to  pay  compulsory  deference  to  Banquo,  at  a 
banquet  where  he  does  not  expect  him  to  appear,  that  by  so  representing  him  as  a 
dangerous  threatener  to  their  power,  he  may  discover  if  she  will  recommend  the  course 
which  he  has  previously  taken  concerning  him ;  and  having  obtained  her  desired 
sanction,  he  triumphantly  hints  at  the  murder  he  has  projected. 

Dyce  (ed.  I).  I  think  Steevens  is  right  in  supposing  that  some  words  have 
dropped  out  which  originally  rendered  the  sentiment  less  obscure. 

White.  It  seems  impossible  to  make  any  improvement  in  this  speech  upon  the 
versification  of  the  Folio. 

Bailey  (ii,  32).  The  adjective  *  unsafe  *  is  inconsistent  with  the  drift  of  the  speech. 
Far  from  considering  it  unsafe  to  be  joyous  in  looks  and  courteous  to  their  guests, 
both  Macbeth  and  his  wife  regard  this  line  of  conduct  as  necessary  to  their  security, 
and  are  enforcing  it  on  each  other.  Macbeth's  intention  seems  to  be  to  express  here 
his  mortification  that,  in  their  proud  position,  they  should  have  to  stoop  to  hypocritical 
civilities ;  and  this  will  be  accomplished  by  reading  *  one  chafes  the  while  that  we,* 
&c.  If  Macbeth  had  been  merely  insisting  on  ^t  policy  of  blandishments,  in  which 
they  both  agreed,  why  should  Lady  M.  reply  to  him,  *  You  must  leave  this,*  i.  e.  you 
must  quit  this  topic  ?  She  evidently  wishes  to  divert  him  from  dwelling  on  some 
unpleasant  aspect  of  what  they  have  to  do ;  unpleasant,  not  because  it  is  politic  or 
impolitic,  but  because  it  is  galling  to  their  pride,  and  my  proposed  reading  intro- 
duces the  mention  of  the  feeling  which  she  warns  him  not  to  indulge. 

Clarke.  As  the  passage  stands,  we  must  elliptically  understand  *  Ah !  how '  be- 
fore *  unsafe,*  and  *  is  ours  *  before  *  the  while  ;*  since  the  word  *  eminence  *  appears 
to  supply  the  particular  here  referred  to. 

Clarendon.  Something  has  doubtless  dropped  out,  and  perhaps  also  the  words 
which  remain  are  corrupt.  Steevens's  suggestion  is  tame.  The  words  should  express 
a  sense  both  of  insecurity,  and  of  humiliation  in  the  thought  of  the  arts  required  to 
maintain  their  power. 

Abbott  ({  284).  Since  that  represents  different  cases  of  the  relative,  it  may  mean 


)  56  MACBETH.  [act  hi,  sc.  ii. 

And  make  our  faces  visards  to  our  hearts, 
Disguising  what  they  are. 

Lady  M.  You  must  leave  this.  35 

Macb,     O,  full  of  scorpions  is  my  mind,  dear  wife ! 
Thou  know'st  that  Banquo,  and  his  Fleance,  lives. 

Lady  M,     But  in  them  nature's  copy's  not  eteme. 

Macb,     There's  comfort  yet ;  they  are  assailable ; 
Then  be  thou  jocund :  ere  the  bat  hath  flown  40 

His  cloister'd  flight ;  ere  to  black  Hecate's  summons 
The  shard-borne  beetle  with  his  drowsy  hums 

34.    visards']    Dycc,  Glo.  Cam.  Cla.  White,  Dyce  ii. 

vizors  Theob.   Warb.  Johns,      vizards  38.     eUme\  eternal  Pope,  +,  eiem 

Y^t  et  cet.  Cap. 

to  our]  f  our  Pope,  + .  42.    shard-borne]   shard-bom   F^F^, 

lives]    live    Han.    Coll.    Huds.  Rowe,  + ,  Cap.    sham-bode  Daniel.* 

« in  thatt  *  for  that^  *  because'  (*  quod  *),  or  *  at  which  time  *  (*  quum ').    •  Unsafe  the 
while  (in  or  for)  that  we,*  &c. 
34.  visards]  Clarendon.  Cotgrave  has  *Masqui,  Masked,  disguised,  wearing  a 


visor.* 


37.  lives]  See  Abbott,  {  336,  for  instances  of  the  inflection  in  s  with  two  sin- 
gular nouns  as  the  subject.     See  I,  iii,  147. 

38.  copy]  Johnson.  The  copy,  the  lease,  by  which  they  hold  their  lives  from  na- 
ture, has  its  time  of  termination  limited. 

RiTSON.  The  allusion  is  to  an  estate  for  lives  held  by  cofy  of  court-roll. 

M.  Mason.  We  find  Macbeth  alluding  to  that  great  bond  which  'makes  [sic] 
me  pale.'    Yet  perhaps  by  *  nature's  copy '  Sh.  may  only  mean  the  human  form  divine. 

Steevens.  I  once  thought  that  Sh.  meant  man,  as  formed  after  the  Deity,  though 
not  like  him  immortal. 

Knight.  Although  the  expression  may  be  somewhat  obscure,  does  not  every  one 
feel  that  the  copy  means  the  individual, — the  particular  cast  from  nature's  mould, — a 
perishable  copy  of  the  prototype  of  man  ? 

Elwin.  Natures  copy  is  the  form  of  man,  or  of  human  nature.  So  in  Lyly's 
Euphues: — '  If  the  Gods  thought  no  scorn  to  become  Beastes,  to  obtaine  their  beste 
beloved,  shall  Euphues  be  so  nice  in  changing  his  copy  to  gain  his  lady?'  SeeOth., 
V,  ii,  II. 

Clarendon.  The  deed  by  which  man  holds  life  of  Nature  gives  no  right  to  per- 
petual tenure.  .  .  .  'Copyhold,  Tenura  per  copiam  rotuli  curia,  is  a  tenure  for 
which  the  tenant  hath  nothing  to  shew  but  the  copy  of  the  rolls  made  by  the  stew- 
ard of  the  lord's  court.  .  .  .  Some  copyholds  are  fineable  at  will,  and  some  certain: 
that  which  is  fineable  at  will,  the  lord  taketh  at  his  pleasure.' — Cowel's  Law 
Diet.  s.  v. 

41.  cloistered]  Steevens.  The  bats  wheeling  round  the  dim  cloisters  of  Queen's 
College,  Cambridge,  have  frequently  impressed  on  me  the  singular  propriety  of  this 
original  epithet. 

42.  shard-borne]  Steevens.  The  beetle  borne  along  by  its  shards  or  scaly 
wings :  as  appears  from  a  passage  in  Cower,  Confessio  Amantis  [vol.  iii,  p.  68,  ed. 


ACT  III,  sc.  ii.]  MA  CBETH.  1 5  ^ 

Hath  rung  night's  yawning  peal,  there  shall  be  done 
A  deed  of  dreadful  note. 

Lady  M.  What's  to  be  done  ? 

Macb,     Be  innocent  of  the  knowledge,  dearest  chuck,  45 

Till  thou  applaud  the  deed. — Come,  seeling  night. 
Scarf  up  the  tender  eye  of  pitiful  day, 
And  with  thy  bloody  and  invisible  hand 

43,  44.     Hath.,. note, '\    Rowe.     First         46.     sfeiing]  sealing  Rowe,  Pope, 
line  ends  at  peale^  Ff,  Knt,  Del. 

Pauli],  *  She  sigh,  her  thought,  a  dragon  tho.  Whose  sherdes  shinen  as  the  sonne.* 
Ben  Jonson,  in  his  Sad  Shepherd,  says : — *  The  scaly  beetles  with  their  habergeons,^ 
See  also  Cymb.  Ill,  iii,  20.  Such  another  description  of  the  beetle  occurs  in  Chap- 
man's Eugenia,  1614: — 'The  beetle.. .with  his  knoll-like  humming  gave  the  dor 
Of  death  to  men  J* 

ToLLET.  The  shard'bom  beetle  is  the  beetle  bom  in  dung.  Aristotle  and  Pliny 
mention  beetles  that  breed  in  dung.  Poets  as  well  as  natural  historians  have  made 
the  same  observation.  See  Drayton's  Ideas^  31  :  *  I  scorn  all  earthly  dung-bred 
scarabies.*  So,  Jonson  [ed.  Gifford,  vol.  i,  p.  61]  :  *  But  men  of  thy  condition  feed 
on  sloth.  As  doth  the  beetle  on  the  dung  she  breeds  in.'  That  shard  signifies  dung^ 
is  well  known  in  the  North  of  Staffordshire,  where  cowshard  is  the  word  generally 
used  for  cow-dung. 

RiTSON.  The  shard-bom  beetle  is,  perhaps,  the  beetle  bom  among  shards,  i.  e., 
pieces  of  broken  pots,  tiles,  and  such-like  things,  which  are  frequently  thrown  to- 
gether in  corners  as  rubbish,  and  under  which  beetles  may  breed. 

White.  A  shard  is  any  thin,  brittle  substance  of  small  size.  Job  *  took  a  pot- 
sherd to  scrape  himself  withal ;'  shirred  eggs  are  so  called  because  they  are  cooked 
in  an  earthen  platter ;  and  a  cow -shard  (the  name  is  applied,  I  believe,  to  no  other 
substance  of  the  same  nature)  has  its  name  because  it  is  so  thin  and  becomes  scaly 
upon  exposure  to  the  air. 

Patterson  (p.  65).  The  beetle  is  furnished  with  two  !"''ge  membranaceous  wings, 
which  are  protected  from  external  injury  by  two  very  hard,  homy  wing-cases,  or,  as  en- 
tomologists term  them,  elytra.  The  old  English  name  was  *  shard.'  .  .  .  These  shards 
or  wing-cases  are  raised  and  expanded  when  the  beetle  flies,  and  by  their  concavity 
act  like  two  parachutes  in  supporting  him  in  the  air.  Hence  the  propriety  and  cor- 
rectness of  Sh.'s  description,  *  the  shard-borne  beetle,*  a  description  embodied  in  a 
single  epithet. 

Clarendon.  *  Shard  *  is  derived  from  the  Anglosaxon  sceard^  a  fragment,  gener- 
ally of  pottery.  .  .  .  Toilet's  reading  is  unquestionably  wrong,  though  'shard' 
means  *  dung'  in  some  dialects.  *  Sharebud,'  or  'shambud,'  a  provincial  name  for 
*  beetle,*  is  probably  a  corruption  of  scarabaus, 

44.  note]  Clarendon.  Notoriety.  There  is  perhaps  in  this  passage  a  reference 
to  the  original  meaning  of  the  word,  '  a  mark  or  brand,'  so  that  *  a  deed  of  dreadful 
note '  may  signify  *  a  deed  that  has  a  dreadful  mark  set  upon  it.'  Comp.  Love's 
Lab.  L.  IV,  iii,  125. 

[See  Hiecke,  Appendix,  p.  468.  Ed.] 

46.  seeling]  Nares.  To  seel  is  to  close  the  eyelids  partially  or  entirely,  by  pass- 

14 


158  MACBETH,  [act  III,  sc.  ii. 

Cancel  and  tear  to  pieces  that  great  bond 

Which  keeps  me  pale ! — Light  thickens,  and  the  crow  50 

Makes  wing  to  the  rooky  wood : 

49.  bond'\  band  Ktly.  line,  Ff. 

50.  Light\  Night  yNzxh,  ziQxC),  51.     rooky\  rocky  ItXin, 
50,  51.     and,„„wood]    Rowe.     One 

ing  a  fine  thread  through  them.  This  was  done  to  hawks  till  they  became  tractable. 
Hence  metaphorically  to  close  the  eyes  in  any  way. 

Dyce  {C/oss.)  *  Siller  les  yeux.  To  seeU^  or  srw  up,  the  eye-lids  (6*  thence  also)^ 
to  hoodwinke,  blind,  keepe  in  darknesse,  depriue  of  sight* — Cotgrave.  *  To  seel  a 
hawk.     Accipitris  occulos  consture^ — Coles's  Lat,  and  Eng,  Diet, 

49.  bond]  Steevens.  This  may  be  explained  by  Rich.  Ill :  IV,  iv,  77,  and  Cymb. 
V,  iv,  27. 

Keightley.  We  should  read  band,  riming  with  *  hand.' 

50.  pale]  Staunton  (The  Athenceum,  26  October,  1872).  The  context  requires 
a  word  implying  restraint,  abridgment  of  freedom,  &c.,  rather  than  one  denoting 
dread.  My  impression  has  long  been  that  the  word  should  be  paled.  In  the  same 
sense  as  Macbeth  afterwards  exclaims  in  III,  iv,  24. 

thickens]  Steevens.  So  in  The  Faithful  Shepherdess  of  Fletcher,  Act  I,  sc.  ult : 

•  Fold  your  flocks  up,  for  the  air  'Gins  to  thicken.* 

Malone.  Again,  in  Spenser's  Calendar,  1 579 :  *  But  see,  the  welkin  thicks  apace.* 

51.  rooky]  Roderick  (Edwards,  Canons  of  Crit.  p.  274,  1765).  I  should 
imagine  Sh.  intended  to  give  us  the  idea  of  the  gloominess  of  the  woods  at  the 
close  of  the  evening;  and  wrote, — *toth*  murky  (or  dusky)  wood:*  words  used 
by  him  on  other  like  occasions,  and  not  very  remote  from  the  traces  of  that  in  the 
text. 

Steevens.  This  may  mean  damp,  mi^ty,  steaming  with  exhalations.  It  is  only  a 
North-Country  variation  of  dialect  from  reeky.  In  Cor.  Ill,  iii,  121,  we  have  *  the 
reek  o'  the  rotten  fens.*  *  Rooky  wood*  indeed  may  signify  a  rookery,  the  wood 
that  abounds  with  rooks ;  yet  merely  to  say  of  the  crow  that  he  is  flying  to  a  wood 
inhabited  by  rooks,  is  to  a'''',  little  immediately  pertinent  to  the  succeeding  observa- 
tion, viz. :  that  * things  of  day  begin  to  droop  and  drowse.'     I  cannot,  tlicre- 

fore,  help  supposing  our  author  wrote — *  makes  wing  to  rook  f  th*  wood.'  That  is, 
to  roost  in  it. 

Harry  Rowe.  A  rooky  wood  is  simply  a  wood  where  there  are  rookeries,  and 
has  nothing  to  do  with  the  *  reek  of  rotten  fens.' 

FoRBY.  That  is,  foggy.  Any  East  Anglian  plough-l)oy  would  have  instantly  re- 
moved the  learned  commentator's  doubt  whether  it  had  anything  to  do  with  rooks. 
[The  same  meaning  is  given  in  Carr's  Craven  Dialect,  1828;  Brockf.tt's  North 
Country  IVords,  1829,  and  in  MoRRls's  Glossary  of  Fumess,  1 869.     The  last  adds: 

*  Icel.  rakr.     •*  Roky,  or  mysty,  nebulosus." — Promp.  Parv*  En.] 

MiTFORD  (Gent.  Mag.  Aug.  1844,  p.  129).  *  Crow '  is  the  common  appellation 
of  the  *  rook,'  the  latter  word  being  used  only  when  we  would  speak  with  precision, 
and  never  by  the  country  people,  as  the  word  *  crow-keeper '  will  serve  to  show, 
which  means  the  boy  who  keeps  the  rooks  (not  carrion  crows)  off  the  seed-corn. 
The  carrion  crow,  which  is  the  crow  proper,  being  almost  extinct,  the  necessity  of 
distinguishing  it  from  the  rook  has  passed  away  in  common  usage.     The  passage. 


ACT  III.  sc.  ii.]  MA  CBETH,  1 59 

Good  things  of  day  begin  to  droop  and  drowse, 

Whiles  night's  black  agents  to  their  preys  do  rouse. — 

Thou  marvell'st  at  my  words :  but  hold  thee  still ; 

Things  bad  begun  make  strong  themselves  by  ill :  55 

So,  prithee,  go  with  me.  [Exeunt. 

53.      Whiles]  WJtiU  Cap.  Rann.  55.     strong    themselves']     themselves 

preys]  prefs  F^F^.    prey  Pope,         strong  Ktly. 
+  ,  Steev.  Knt. 

therefore,  simply  means,  *  the  rook  hastens  its  evening  flight  to  the  wood  where  its 
fellows  are  already  assembled,'  and  to  our  mind  *  the  rooky  wood  *  is  a  lively  and 
natural  picture :  the  generic  term  *  crow  *  is  used  for  the  specific  *  rook.* 

Clarke.  The  very  epithet,  *  rooky,'  appears  to  us  to  caw  with  the  sound  of  many 
bed- ward  rooks  bustling  and  croaking  to  their  several  roosts. 

50,  51.  Light  .  .  .  wood]  Mrs  Kemble  (Macmillan's  Mag,^  May,  1867).  We 
see  the  violet-colourqd  sky,  we  feel  the  soft  intermitting  wind  of  evening,  we  hear 
the  solemn  lullaby  of  the  dark  fir-forest,  the  homeward  flight  of  the  bird  suggests 
the  sweetest  images  of  rest  and  peace ;  and,  coupled  and  contrasting  with  the  gra- 
dual falling  of  the  dim  veil  of  twilight  over  the  placid  face  of  nature,  the  remote 
horror  of  *  the  deed  of  fearful  note,'  about  to  desecrate  the  solemn  repose  of  the 
approaching  night,  gives  to  these  harmonious  and  lovely  lines  a  wonderful  effect  of 
mingled  beauty  and  terror. 

51.  wood]  Keightley.  We  might  add,  on  earth  below.  See  Troi.  and  Cress., 
I,  iii,  4. 

53.  agents]  Steevens.  Thus  in  Sydney's  Astrophel  and  Stella :  *  In  night,  of 
sprites  the  ghastly  powers  do  stir.'    Also  in  Ascham's  Toxophilus  [p.  52,  ed.  Arber]  : 

•  For  on  the  nighte  tyme  and  in  corners,  Spirites  and  theues,  &c.,  vse  mooste  styr- 
ringe,  when  in  the  daye  lyght,  and  in  open  places  whiche  be  ordeyned  of  God  for 
honeste  thynges,  they  darre  not  ones  come ;  whiche  thinge  Euripides  noteth  verye 
well,  sayenge — Iph.  in  Taur, :  *  II  thynges  the  night,  good  thinges  the  daye  doth 
haunt  and  vse.' 

Anonymous.  Sh.  may  mean  not  merely  sprites  or  demons,  but,  generally,  robbers, 
murderers,  animals  of  prey  who  prowl  in  the  night,  and  other  noxious  visitants  of 
the  dark ;  such,  for  instance,  as  he  alludes  to  in  Lear,  III,  ii,  42-45. 

53.  preys]  Elwin.  The  plural  individualizes  more  pointedly  the  peculiar  prey 
of  each  differing  agent  of  evil,  and  so  denotes  every  kind  of  prey,  of  every  species 
of  vicious  power  that  darkness  favours. 

Clarendon.  For  this  use  of  the  plural,  compare  III,  i,  121,  and  V,  viii,  61. 

54,  55.  Thou  .  .  .  ill]  Clarendon.  This  couplet  reads  like  an  interpolation. 
It  interrupts  the  sense. 

56.  go]  Delius.  This  can  hardly  mean  that  he  asks  Lady  M.  to  leave  the  stage 
with  him,  but,  in  connection  with  what  has  preceded,  it  is  rather  a  request  that  she 
should  aid  him,  or  suffer  him  quietly  to  carry  out  his  plan.     As  in  Lear,  I,  i,  107  : 

*  But  goes  thy  heart  with  this  ?' 


l6o  MACBETH,  [act  in,  sc.  iii. 

Scene  III.    A  park  near  the  palace. 

Enter  three  Murderers. 

First  Mur,     But  who  did  bid  thee  join  with  us  ? 

Third  Mur,  Macbeth. 

Sec.  Mur,     He  needs  not  our  mistrust;  since  he  delivers 
Our  offices,  and  what  we  have  to  do, 
To  the  direction  just. 

First  Mur,  Then  stand  with  us. — 

Scene  hi.]  Scene  ii.  Rowe.    Scene  2.    He  needs  not  our']  IVe  need  not  to 

IV.  Pope,  +.  Warb.  conj.  ap.  Theob.  MS.* 

A  park...]    Glo.     A   Park,   the  our"]  to  Pope. 

Castle  at  a  Distance.  Rowe.     A  Park :  [Speaking  to  the  first.  Han. 

Gate  leading  to  the  Palace.  Cap.  A  Park,  3,  4.     do.  To.,. .just.]  do. —  To. ...just ! 

with  a  road  leading  to  the  Palace.  Coll.  Johns,  conj. 

Enter  three  Murderers]  [In  Notes  and  Queries,  for  11  September  and  13  No- 
vember, 1869,  Mr  Allan  Park  Paton  broached  and  maintained  the  theory  that  the 
Third  Murderer  was  Macbeth  himself,  and  adduced  in  proof  eight  arguments. 
First :  Although  the  banquet  was  to  commence  at  seven,  Macbeth  did  not  go  there 
till  near  midnight.  Second:  His  entrance  to  the  room  and  the  appearance  of  the 
murderer  are  almost  simultaneous.  Third:  So  dear  to  his  heart  was  the  success  of 
this  plot,  that  during  the  four  or  five  hours  before  the  banquet  he  must  have  been 
taken  up  with  the  intended  murder  some  way  or  other.  He  could  not  have  gone  to 
the  feast  with  the  barest  chance  of  the  plot  miscarrying.  Fourth  :  If  there  had 
been  a  third  murderer  sent  to  superintend  the  other  two,  he  must  have  been  Mac- 
beth's  chief  confidant,  and  as  such  in  all  probability  would  have  been  the  first  to 
announce  the  result.  Fifth :  The  *  twenty  mortal  murthers  *  was  a  needless  and 
devilish  kind  of  mutilation,  not  like  the  work  of  hirelings.  Sixth  :  The  third  mur- 
derer repeated  the  precise  instructions  given  to  the  other  two,  showed  unusual  inti- 
macy with  the  exact  locality,  the  habits  of  the  visitors,  &c.,  and  seems  to  have  struck 
down  the  light,  probably  to  escape  recognition.  Seventh  :  There  was  a  levity  in 
Macbeth's  manner  with  the  murderer  at  the  banquet,  which  is  quite  explicable  if  he 
personally  knew  that  Banquo  was  dead.  Eighth  :  When  the  Ghost  rises,  Macbeth 
asks  those  about  him  *  which  of  them  had  done  it,'  evidently  to  take  suspicion  off 
himself,  and  he  says,  in  effect,  to  the  ghost,  *  In  yon  black  struggle  you  could  nn>er 
know  me.*  Of  course  Mr  Paton's  theory  called  forth  a  discussion  which  may  be 
found  in  Notes  and  Queries  for  2  Oct.,  13  Nov.,  and  4  Dec.  1869.  In  the  number 
for  30  Oct.  of  the  same  periodical  Prof.  Thomas  S.  Baynes  maintains  that  he  an- 
ticipated Mr  Paton.  Ed.] 

1.  But]  Capell  (p.  16).  ^«/ implies  a  previous  matter  discours'd  of.  Tlie  third 
murderer  appears  as  forward  as  the  others,  but  more  clever,  for  'tis  he  who  observes 
his  comrades'  mistake  about  the  *  light.* 

2.  needs]  Abbott  (J  308).  It  is  not  necessary  that  we  should  mistrust  him. 

4.  To]  Abbott  (}  187).  To,  even  without  a  verb  of  motion,  means  *  motion  to 
the  side  of.*     Hence  *  motion  to  and  consequent  rest  near.'     Hence  *  by  the  side  of  * 


ACT  III,  sc.  iii.]  MA CBETH,  1 6 1 

The  west  yet  glimmers  with  some  streaks  of  day :  5 

Now  spurs  the  lated  traveller  apace 

To  gain  the  timely  inn,  and  near  approaches 

The  subject  of  our  watch. 

Third  Mitr.  Hark !  I  hear  horses. 

Ban.  [  Within]     Give  us  a  light  there,  ho ! 

Sec.  Mur.  Then  'tis  he  :  the  rest 

That  are  within  the  note  of  expectation  10 

Already  are  i*  the  court. 

First  Mur.  His  horses  go  about. 

Third  Mur.     Almost  a  mile :  but  he  does  usually — 

6.  iateeil^  latest  ¥^^^,  ho !...within...already. ..about,    (reading 

7.  and^  endY^.  it  is  for  '/ij,  line  9,  and  in  for  T,  line 
9.     Give  us  a  light']   Give  us  light         ii)  Walker. 

Pope, +.     Giz^  light  Han.  9»  10.    the  rest.... expectation]  Pope. 

Then  'tis  he]  Then  it  is  he  Pope,  One  line,  Ff. 
f,  Steev.  Var.  Sing.  i.     'Tis  he  Cap.  10.     That  are]  om.  Steev.  conj. 

9-1 1.     Give... about.]  The  lines  end  11.     Already]  om.  Steev.  conj. 

*  in  comparison  with,*  as  in  III,  iv,  64.     Hence  *  up  to,*  *  in  proportion  to,*  *  accord- 
ing to/  as  in  the  present  case.     See  note  on  III,  i,  51  and  I,  ii,  10. 

6.  lated]  Abbott  (J  460).  Prefix  dropped. 

7.  timely]  Clarendon.  Welcome,  opportune.  Unless,  indeed,  we  take  it  as  a 
poetical  metathesis  for  *  to  gain  the  inn  timely,  or  betimes.* 

7.  near]  Collier  {Notes,  &c.)  For  this  the  (MS)  puts  here  in  his  margin.  Either 
may  be  right. 

Singer  (Sh.  Vind.)  There  is  not  the  slightest  reason  for  deviation  from  the  re- 
ceived reading. 

Dyce  (Few  Notes,  &c.)  The  First  Murderer  knew,  from  the  coming  on  of  night, 
that  Banquo  was  not  far  off;  but,  before  hearing  the  tread  of  horses  and  the  voice 
of  Banquo,  he  could  not  know  that  the  victim  was  absolutely  near  at  hand, 

9.  a  light]  Delius.  Banquo  calls  for  a  light  from  one  of  his  servants,  because  he 
and  Fleance  are  about  to  strike  off  into  the  footway,  while  the  servants  make  a  cir 
cuit  to  the  castle,  with  the  horses. 

10.  note]  Steevens.  They  who  are  set  down  in  the  list  of  guests,  and  expected 
to  supper. 

Clarendon.  For  *  note,'  in  this  sense,  see  Winter's  Tale,  IV,  iii,  49.  Also  in 
Rom.  and  Jul.,  I,  ii,  36. 

11.  horses]  Horn  (i.  81).  Sh.,  who  dared  do  all  that  poet  ever  dared,  neverthe- 
less did  not  dare  to  bring  upon  the  stage — a  horse.  And  very  properly ;  for  there, 
where  noble  poets  represent  the  world's  history  upon  the  *  boards  that  imitate  the 
world,'  there — no  brutes  should  be  allowed.  But  in  the  present  scene  it  is  hard  to 
avoid  introducing  a  horse,  and  the  poet  has  to  obviate  the  difficulty  in  four  almost 
insignificant  lines,  in  order  to  account  for  the  absence  of  the  steeds.  It  is,  after  all, 
undoubtedly  better  not  to  shrink  from  two  or  three  such  trivial  lines  tlian  to  have  a 
horse  come  clattering  on  the  stage.  Would  that  Schiller  had  thought  of  this  passage 
and  so  have  spared  us  in  his  noble  *  Tell  *  that  mounted  Landvogt ! 

14»  L 


1 62 


MACBETH. 


[act  III,  sc.  iii. 


So  all  men  do — from  hence  to  the  palace  gate 
Make  it  their  walk. 

Enter  Banquo,  and  Fleance  with  a  torch. 

Sec,  Mur.  A  light,  a  light ! 

Third  Mur.  Tis  he. 

First  Mur.     Stand  to 't.  1 5 

Ban,     It  will  be  rain  to-night. 

First  Mur,  Let  it  come  down. 

\They  set  upon  Banquo, 
Ban,     O,  treachery !     Fly,  good  Fleance,  fly,  fly,  fly ! 
Thou  mayst  revenge.     O  slave !  \Dies,     Fleance  escapes. 

Third  Mur,     Who  did  strike  out  the  light  ? 
First  Mur,  Was't  not  the  way  ? 

Third  Mur,    There's  but  one  down ;  the  son  is  fled. 
Sec,  Mur,  We  have  lost     20 


13.  from]  om.  Seymour. 

14.  Enter,..]  Ff.  Enter  B.  and  F. 
Servant,  with  a  Torch,  before  them. 
Cap.  Steev.  Var.  Sing,  i,  Knt.  Enter... 
(after  stand  to't,)  Dyce,  Sta. ;  (after  '  Tis 
he)  White;  (Tiiitv light !)  GIo.  Cam.Cla. 

14,  15.     A  light, .. to* t.]  Aside,  Cap. 

16.  //  will  be]  *  Tktnll  Steev.  conj. 
reading  Stand... down  as  one  line. 

[They...]  Glo.  They  fall  upon 
Banquo  and  kill  him;  in  the  scuffle 
Fleance  escapes.  Rowe.  om.  Ff.  They 
assault  Banquo.  Theob.  +  . 


17.  a.^/]  Han.  Two  lines,  Ff, 
Warb. 

good]  godd  Fjj.  om.  Pope,  +  . 

18.  [Dies...]  Pope.  om.  Ff.  Dies. 
Rowe.  Dies.  Fl.  and  ser.  fly.  Cap. 
Steev.  Var.  Sing,  i,  Knt. 

20,  21.  There*  s... off  air]  Ff.  End- 
ing the  lines  at  son. ..affair.  Pope,  +. 

We  have]  We*ve  Pope,  + ,  Dyce 
ii,  Huds.  ii. 

lost]  lost'  Allen. 
20,21.  We. ..affair]  Ff.  One  line  Steev. 
Rann,  Var.  Sing.  Knt,  Coll.  Huds.  Sta. 


14.  with  a  torch]  Collier  (ed.  i).  Here  again  Fleance  carries  the  torch  to  light 
his  father ;  and  in  the  old  stage-direction  nothing  is  said  about  a  servant^  who  would 
obviously  be  in  the  way,  when  his  master  was  to  be  murdered.  The  servant  is  a 
merely  modem  interpolation. 

18.  Fleance]  M alone.  Fleance,  after  the  assassination  of  his  father,  fled  into 
Wales,  where,  by  the  daughter  of  the  prince  of  that  country,  he  had  a  son  named 
Walter,  who  afterwards  became  lord  High  Steward  of  Scotland,  and  from  thence 
assumed  the  name  of  Walter  Ste^vard.  From  him,  in  a  direct  line.  King  James  I 
was  descended,  in  compliment  to  whom  our  author  has  chosen  to  describe  Banquo, 
who  was  equally  concerned  with  Macbeth  in  the  murder  of  Duncan,  as  innocent  of 
that  crime. 

Dies]  Horn  (i,  82).  Banquo's  death  must  take  place  before  our  eyes  in  order 
to  prepare  us  for  his  ghost  at  the  banquet.  His  murder  must  appear  important  and 
of  moment,  but  it  must  pass  quickly  before  us ;  after  the  preparation  that  we  had  foi 
Duncan*s  death,  the  second  victim  must  have  less  prominence. 

20.  lost  Best]  That  is,  Most  the  Best;*  'the'  is  elided.  See  Allen's  note  in 
Var.  Rom.  and  Jul.,  p.  429.  Ed. 


ACT  III,  sc.  iv.]  MACBETH,  1 63 

Best  half  of  our  affair. 
First  Mur,     Well,  let's  away  and  say  how  much  is  done. 

\ExeunU 


Scene  IV.    Hcdl  in  the  palace. 

A  banquet  prepared.    Enter  Macbeth,  Lady  Macbeth,  Ross,  Lennox,  Lords, 

and  Attendants. 

Macb,     You  know  your  own  degrees ;  sit  down :  at  first 
And  last  the  hearty  welcome. 

Lords,  Thanks  to  your  majesty. 

Macb,     Ourself  will  mingle  with  society 
And  play  the  humble  host. 
Our  hostess  keeps  her  state,  but  in  best  time  5 

21,22.     Lines  end  aTe;ay,...</(!7»/.  Cap.  1,2.      You welcome,']    Arranged 

Walker,  White.  (reading  and  first)  as  in  Cap.  (Johns, 

Scene  IV.]  Scene  in.  Rowe.  Scene  conj.).    First  line  ends  at //<?w«^.- Ff,  +  . 

V.  Pope,  +.  I.     down:   at  first]  Steev.     down: 

Hall...]  Glo.  om.  Ff.     A  Room  And  first  Rowe  ii,  Pope,  Han.     down 

of  State.  Rowe.     A  Room  of  State  in  at  first y  Johns,  conj. 

the  Castle.   Pope.     A  Hall  of  State...  i,  2.      You^.tast]  One  line,  Del. 

Cap.  4-6.     Two  lines,  the  first  ends  keeps 

A  banquet...]  Banquet...  Ff.   A  Ban-  Ktly. 

quet  set  out.     Flourish.  Cap.  5.     best]  the  best  F^F  F^,  Rowe. 

1.  at  first]  Johnson.  I  believe  the  true  reading  is  *sit  down. — ^To  first  And 
last,'  &c.  But  for  *  last  *  should  then  be  written  next.  All,  of  whatever  degree, 
from  the  highest  to  the  lowest,  may  be  assured  that  their  visit  is  well  received. 

Anonymous.  The  meaning  is  perhaps  this,  *Once  for  ally  you  are  welcome. 
From  the  beginning  to  the  end  of  the  feast  dismiss  all  irksome  restraint  I* 

Clarke.  The  phrase  is  probably  intended  to  include  not  only  Johnson's  meaning, 
but  also  •  let  those  who  arrive  at  first,  as  well  as  those  at  last,  feel  heartily  welcome.' 

2.  majesty]  Walker  (^Vers,  p.  174).  Majesty — especially  in  the  forms  Your 
Majesty y  His  Majesty ^  &c. — is  usually  a  dissyllable. 

Abbott  (§  468).  See  II,  iv,  10. 

5.  state]  Steevens.  That  is,  continues  in  her  chair  of  state  at  the  head  of  the 
table.  This  idea  might  have  been  borrowed  from  Holinshed,  p.  805 :  *  The  king 
(Henry  VIII)  caused  the  queene  to  keep  the  estate^  and  then  sate  the  ambassadours 
and  ladies  as  they  were  marshalled  by  the  K.  who  would  not  sit,  but  walked  from 
place  to  place,  making  cheare,'  &c. 

GiFFORD  \^Note  on  the  Stage-direction  *  offering  him  the  state,'  in  The  Bondman, 
Massinger,  vol.  ii,  p.  15,  cd.  1805].  The  state  was  a  raised  platform,  on  which  was 
placed  a  chair  with  a  canopy  over  it.  The  word  occurs  perpetually  in  our  old 
writers.     It  is  used  by  Dryden,  but  it  seems  to  have  been  growing  obsolete  while  he 


1 64  MACBETH,  [act  III,  sc.  iv. 

We  will  require  her  welcome. 

Lady  M.    Pronounce  it  for  me,  sir,  to  all  our  friends, 
For  my  heart  speaks  they  are  welcome . 

Enter  first  Murderer  to  the  door, 

Macb,  See,  they  encounter  thee  with  their  hearts'  thanks. — 
Both  sides  are  even:  here  I'll  sit  i'  the  midst:  lo 

Be  large  in  mirth ;  anon  we'll  drink  a  measure 
The  table  round. — \Approdching  the  door]  There's  blood  upon 

thy  face. 

Mur,     Tis  Banquo's  then. 

Macb,     Tis  better  thee  without  than  he  within. 

6.     [They  sit.  Rowe, +  ,  (after  line  2)  12,     [Approaching ]   White,  Glo. 

Cap.  Cam.  Cla.  Knt  ii.     To  the  Mur.  Rowe. 

8,     they  are"]  they're  Pope,  + .  their  To  the   Murtherer    aside   at  the   door. 

Anon.  conj.»  Pope,  +.  om.  Ff  et  cet. 

Enter...door.]   Cap.     Enter  first  12-32.  As 'Aside' by  Cap.  Ktly. 

Murtherer.  Ff.     (After  line   10.)  Cap.  14.     he'\  him  Han.  Cap.  H.  Rowe, 

Dyce,  Sta.     (In  line  12.)  Huds.  ii.  Coll.  (MS),  Ktly,  Huds.  ii. 

was  writing:  in  the  first  edition  of  MacFleckno,  the  monarch  is  placed  on  a  state ; 
in  the  subsequent  ones,  he  is  seated,  like  his  fellow  kings,  on  a  throne :  it  occurs 
also,  and  I  believe  for  the  last  time,  in  Swift :  *  As  she  affected  not  the  grandeur  of  a 
state  with  a  canopy,  she  thought  there  was  no  offence  in  an  elbow  chair.* — Hist,  of 
John  Buliy  c.  i. 

Clarendon.  The  •  state '  was  originally  the  *  canopy ;'  then  the  chair  with  the 
canopy  over  it.  Compare  Cotgrave :  *  Dais,  or  Daiz.  A  cloth  of  Estate,  Canopie,  or 
Heauen,  that  stands  ouer  the  heads  of  Princes  thrones ;  also,  the  whole  State,  or  seat 
of  Estate.'  See  also  Bacon's  New  Atlantis  (Works  iii,  148,  ed.  Spedding) :  *  Over 
the  chair  is  a  state,  made  round  or  oval,  and  it  is  of  ivy.* 

6.  require]  Clarendon.  Ask  her  to  give  us  welcome.  *  Require  *  was  formerly 
used  in  the  simple  sense  of  *to  ask,*  not  with  the  meaning  now  attached  to  it  of 
asking  as  a  right.  See  Ant.  &  Cleop.  Ill,  xii,  12,  and  also  the  Prayer-book  Version 
of  Psalm  xxxviii,  16. 

II.  anon]  Delius.  This  alludes  to  the  fact  that  Macbeth  has  just  caught  sight 
of  the  murderer  standing  in  the  door,  and  wishes  to  dismiss  him  before  pledging  the 
measure. 

14.  Johnson.  *  I  am  more  pleased  that  the  blood  of  Banquo  should  be  on  thy 
face  than  in  his  body.*  Sh.  might  mean :  *  It  is  better  that  Banquo's  blood  were  on 
thy  face  than  he  in  this  room.* 

Hunter.  Anything,  almost,  is  to  be  preferred  to  the  common  explanation  that 
Macbeth  addresses  this  sentence  to  the  murderer.  I  would  submit  as  the  Poet's  in- 
tention, that  Macbeth  goes  to  the  door,  and  there  sees  the  murderer  with  the  evidence 
of  the  crime  upon  him :  and  with  that  infirmity  of  purpose  which  belongs  to  him, 
that  occasional  rising  of  the  milk  of  human  kindness,  he  is  deeply  shocked  at  the 


ACT  ni,  fic.  iv.]  MA  CBETH.  1 65 

Is  he  dispatched?  15 

Mur,     My  lord,  his  throat  is  cut ;  that  I  did  for  him. 

Macb,     Thou  art  the  best  o'  the  cut-throats :  yet  he's  good 
That  did  the  like  for  Fleance :  if  thou  didst  it, 
Thou  art  the  nonpareil. 

Mur,  Most  royal  sir, 

Fleance  is  'scaped.  20 

Macb,  [Aside]     Then  conies  my  fit  again:  I  had  else  been 
perfect, 
Whole  as  the  marble,  founded  as  the  rock, 
As  broad  and  general  as  the  casing  air : 
But  now  I  am  cabin'd,  cribb'd.  confined,  bound  in 
To  saucy  doubts  and  fears. — But  Banquo's  safe  ?  25 

Mur     Ay,  my  good  lord :  safe  in  a  ditch  he  bides, 

x6.     Divide  the  line  at  cu/;  Ktly.  19,  20.     most '*scaped'\    One    line 

that  I  did^   I  did  that  Pope,  Coll.  Huds.  Ktly. 

Han.  21.     [Aside]   Hunter,  White,   Cam. 

17-19.     Thau nonpareil,'\  Rowe.  Cla.  om.  Ff  et  cet. 

Lines  end  Cut-throatSt„.FUans  :.„Non-  Then *pfrfect,'\   Pope.     Two 

fareill  Ff,  Coll.  Huds.  Ktly.  lines,  Ff. 

17.     <?' M<r]  ^  Pope,  + .  24.     I  am]  Fm  Pope,  +,  Dyce  ii, 

good]  Osgood  Long  MS.*  Huds.  ii. 

sight,  especially  contrasting  it  with  the  gaiety  of  the  banquet ;  he  retires  from  the 
door,  meditates,  and  then,  feeling  the  importance  to  him  of  having  got  quit  of  Ban- 
quo,  he  utters  the  expression  ^ide,  '  *Tis  better  thee  without  than  he  within :'  that, 
horrible  as  it  is,  thus  in  the  midst  of  the  feast,  to  behold  the  assassin  of  his  friend 
just  without  the  door,  it  is  still  better  than  that  Banquo  himself  should  be  alive  and 
within  the  hall  a  guest  at  this  entertainment.  He  thus  recovers  himself,  and  then 
^oes  to  the  door  again  to  ask  if  the  deed  had  been  done  effectual  y,  <Is  he  dis- 
patched ?'  In  what  follows,  we  cannot  suppose  that  Macbeth  speaks  so  as  to  be 
heard  by  the  murderer,  much  less  speaks  to  him,  revealing  the  secret  purpose  and 
thoughts  of  his  mind.     They  are  aside  speeches. 

Clarendon.  It  is  better  outside  thee  than  inside  him.     In  spite  of  the  defective 
grammar,  this  must  be  the  meaning,  or  there  would  be  no  point  in  the  antithesis. 
For  a  similar  instance  of  loose  construction  see  Cymb.  II,  iii,  153. 
17.  he's]  Clarke.  Probably  an  elision  for  «he  is  as,*  not  *he  is,* 
19.  nonpareil]  Delius.  Sh.  always  uses  the  definite  article  with  <  nonpareil,*  ex- 
cept in  Tempest  III,  ii,  108. 

24.  cribb*d]  Clarendon.  A  still  stronger  word  than  <  cabin'd,*  which  explains 
it,  and  perhaps  suggested  it  to  the  author.     It  does  not,  we  believe,  occur  elsewhere. 

25.  To]  Clarendon.  Observe  the  preposition  *  To,*  used  as  if  the  word  *  pris 
oner '  had  preceded. 

saucy  doubts  and  fears]  Delius.  These  are  the  fellow-prisoners  of  such  con- 
finement and  imprisonment. 

25.  safe]  Clarke.  There  is  a  kind  of  grim  levity  in  this  equivocally-sounding 
word,  that  horribly  enhances  the  ghastliness  of  the  colloquy. 


1 66 


MACBETH. 


[act  iu,  sc.  iv. 


With  twenty  trenched  gashes  on  his  head ; 
The  least  a  death  to  nature. 

Macb,  Thanks  for  that. — 

[Aside]  There  the  grown  serpent  lies ;  the  worm  that's  fled 
Hath  nature  that  in  time  will  venom  breed,  30 

No  teeth  for  the  present. — Get  thee  gone:  to-morrow 
We'll  hear  ourselves  again.  [Exit  Murderer, 

Lady  M.  My  royal  lord, 

You  do  not  give  the  cheer :  the  feast  is  sold 
That  is  not  often  vouch'd,  while  'tis  a-making, 
'Tis  given  with  welcome :  to  feed  were  best  at  home ;  35 


29.  [Aside]  White,  Cam.  Cla.  om. 
Ff  et  cet. 

30.  Hath']  Hath'  Allen. 

32.  hear  ourselves]  hear  */  ourselves 
Theob.  Warb.  Johns,  hear  thee  our- 
selves Han.  Cap.  Ktly.  hear,  ourselves 
Steev.  Var.  Knt.  hear,  ourselves,  Dyce, 
GIo. 

our  selves']  our  self  Cap.  conj. 

33.  sold]  cold  Pope,  Han. 


34.     vouched]  Ff.  vouched  Rowe,  +  . 

while  *tis  a-making^]  Mai.  (hy- 
phen by  Huds.)  while  Uis  a  making  : 
F,.  while  Wis  making  :  F^F  F  ,  Theob. 
while  Uis  making.  Pope,  Han.  while 
*tis  making  Warb.  Johns,  the  while  Vw 
making:  Coll.  (MS). 

vouch* d,....a-making,]  vouch' d... 
a-making;  Cap.  Coll.  i,  Sing.  ii. 


27.  trenched]  Nares.  To  cut,  or  carve ;  trancher,  French.  See  Two  Gent,  of 
Ver.  Ill,  ii,  7.     The  word  is  still  used  in  its  literal  sense  of  *  to  cut  a  trench.' 

29.  wonn]  Nares.  Frequently  used  by  Elizabethan  writers  for  a  serpent.  [  Wyrm, 
in  Anglosaxon,  means  a  serpent  or  dragon — the  modern  meaning  is  only  a  second- 
ary one.] 

Halliwell.  So  in  a  MS  mediaeval  English  poem  in  the  University  Librar)', 
Cambridge,  *With  the  grace  of  God  Almyghte,  With  the  worme  zyt  schalle  y 
fyghte.' 

32.  ourselves  again]  Douce  (///«j.  i.  379).  That  is,  when  I  have  recovered 
from  my  fit,  and  am  once  more  myself.  It  is  an  ablative  absolute.  Ourselves  is 
much  more  properly  used  than  ourself,  the  modem  language  of  royalty. 

Clarendon.  We  will  talk  with  one  another  again... But  the  expression  is  awkward 
if  both  the  king  and  the  murderer  are  included  in  *  ourselves  ;*  if  by  *  ourselves '  is 
meant  Macbeth  only,  we  require,  as  Capell  conjectured,  *  ourself.* 

33-35.  feast.. .welcome]  Dyce  {^Remarks,  &c.,  p.  196).  That  feast  can  only  be 
considered  as  sold,  not  given,  during  which  the  entertainers  omit  such  courtesies  as 
may  assure  their  guests  that  it  is  given  with  welcome. 

34.  a-making]  Clarendon.  The  prefix  *  a,'  equivalent  to  *  on  *  in  Old  English, 
and  generally  suppxjsed  to  be  a  corruption  of  it,  was  in  Sh.'s  time  much  more  rarely 
used  than  in  earlier  days,  and  may  now  be  said  to  be  obsolete,  except  in  certain 
words,  as  *  a-hunting,'  *  asleep,'  &c. 

See  Abbott,  \\  24,  140. 

35.  feed]  Harry  Rowe.  My  audience  often  consisting  of  cow-keepers,  grooms, 
ostlers,  post-boys,  and  scullion-wenches,  I  was  apprehensive  that  they  would  take 
offence  at  the  word  *  feed  ;*  so,  by  advice  of  my  learned  puppet,  Doctor  Faustus,  I 


ACT  III,  sc.  iv.]  MACBETH.  167 

From  thence  the  sauce  to  meat  is  ceremony ;  36 

Meeting  were  bare  without  it. 

Macb,  Sweet  remembrancer ! — 

Now  good  digestion  wait  on  appetite, 
And  health  on  both  ! 

Len.  May't  please  your  highness  sit. 

\Tlie  Ghost  of  Banquo  enters^  and  sits  in  Macbeth' s  place. 

39.     w/^y /]  Ff ,  Rowe,  + ,  Cap.  Dyce,  rises,...  Cap.  El.     Enter...  Ff, +,  after 

Sta.  White,  Glo.  Cam.  Cla.  May  it  Dav.  it,  line  37.     After  mischance  !  line  43, 

et  cet.  Sta.     After    company,  line    45,   Ktly, 

[The  Ghost...]  Ghost  of  Banquo  Huds.  ii. 

have  changed  the  line  into  *  Then  give  the  welcome :  To  eat,  &c. ;  the  word  « feed  * 
belonging,  as  he  says,  to  the  prona  atque  ventri  obedientia.  But  what  kind  of  men 
and  women  these  prona  atque  ventri  obedientia  are,  I  confess  I  know  not. 

36.  From  thence]  Clarendon.  Away  from  home. 

Abbott  (j  41).  Forth,  hence,  and  hither  are  used  without  verbs  of  motion  (mo- 
tion being  implied).     See  note  on  III,  i,  131. 

36-37.  meat. ..meeting]  Clarendon.  No  play  upon  words  is  intended  here. 
*  Meat '  was  in  Sh.'s  time  pronounced  *  mate.'     See  Two  Gent,  of  Ver.  I,  ii,  68,  69. 

36.  ceremony]  Staunton  {Note  on  All's  Well  II,  iii,  185).  It  has  never,  that 
we  are  aware,  been  noticed  that  Sh.  usually  pronounces  cere  in  ceremony,  ceremonies, 
ceremonials  (but  not  in  ceremonious,  ceremoniously),  as  a  monosyllable,  like  cere- 
cloth, cerement.  Thus  Merry  Wives  IV,  vi,  51 ;  Mid.  N.  D.  V,  i,  55;  Jul.  Caes.  I, 
i,  70,  and  lb.  II,  ii,  13. 

Walker  {^Crit,  ii,  73).  It  appears  that  ceremony  and  ceremonious  were  pro- 
nounced by  our  ancient  poets, — very  frequently  at  least, — ceremony,  and  cer'monous. 
We  should  therefore  perhaps  arrange  this  line :  *  From  thence  the  sauce  to  meat  is 
ceremony ;  meeting  *  in  order  to  avoid  [  Vers.  p.  272]  the  trisyllabic  termination  of 
the  next  line  [<  remembrancer ']  which  is  so  frequent  in  the  dramatists  of  a  later  age, 
but  which  occurs  very  seldom  indeed  in  Sh. 

Lettsom  [Footnote  to  preceding  Crit.  ii,  73].  Some  of  the  writers  quoted  by 
Walker  seem  to  have  even  pronounced  cermny,  cermnous, 

38,  39.  Clarendon.  Compare  the  way  in  which  Wolsey  *  gives  the  cheer  *  in  Hen. 
VIII :  I,  iv,  62,  63. 

39.  The  Ghost  of  Banquo]  Seymour.  I  think  two  Ghosts  are  seen :  Duncan's 
first,  and  afterwards  that  of  Banquo ;  for  what  new  terror,  or  what  augmented  per 
turbation,  is  to  be  produced  by  the  reappearance  of  the  same  object  in  the  same 
scene  ?  or,  if  but  one  dread  monitor  could  gain  access  to  this  imperial  malefactor, 
which  was  the  more  likely  to  harrow  the  remorseful  bosom  of  Macbeth — *  the  gra- 
cious Duncan '  or  Banquo,  his  mere  *  partner  *  ?  Besides  this  obvious  general  claim 
to  precedence  on  the  part  of  Duncan,  how  else  can  we  apply  the  lines  ? — *  If  char- 
nel  houses  and  our  graves,'  &c.  For  they  will  not  suit  Banquo,  who  had  no  grave 
or  charnel-house  assigned  to  him ;  but  must  refer  to  Duncan.  I  do  not  overlook 
the  words :  *  Thou  canst  not  say  I  did  it,*  &c.,  which  may  be  urged  against  me;  but 
if  this  sentence  will  stand,  in  the  case  of  Banquo,  as  the  subterfuge  of  one  who  had 
done  the  deed  by  deputy,  it  surely  will  accord  with  the  casuistry  of  him  who  knows 


1 68  MA  CBETH.  [act  hi,  sc.  iv. 

Macb.     Here  had  we  now  our  country's  honour  roof  *d,        40 

he  struck  a  sleeping  victim ;  and  this,  with  the  pains  that  had  been  taken  to  fix  the 
murder  on  the  grooms,  may  sufficiently  defend  the  application  of  the  remark  to  the 
royal  spectre.  Besides,  to  whom,  except  Duncan,  can  the  words  apply :  <  If  I  stand 
here,  I  saw  him '  ?  If  Banquo  were  the  object  here  alluded  to,  it  must  be  unintelli- 
gible to  the  Lady,  who  had  not  yet  heard  of  Banquo*s  murder.  The  Ghost  of  Dun- 
can having  departed,  Macbeth  is  at  leisure  to  collect  his  thoughts,  and  he  naturally 
reflects  that  if  the  grave  can  thus  cast  up  the  form  of  buried  Duncan,  Banquo  may 
likewise  rise  again,  regardless  of  the  'trenched  gashes  and  twenty  mortal  mur- 
ders on  his  crown.'  The  Lady  interrupts  this  revery  and  he  proceeds  to  *  mingle 
with  society,*  and  when  he  pledges  the  health  of  his  friend,  just  at  that  moment  his 
friend's  ghost  confronts  him. 

Mrs  Jameson  (ii,  331).  Mrs  Siddons,  I  believe,  had  an  idea  that  Lady  Macbeth 
beheld  the  spectre  of  Banquo,  and  that  her  self-control  and  presence  of  mind  en- 
abled her  to  surmount  her  consciousness  of  the  ghastly  presence.  This  would  be 
superhuman,  and  I  do  not  see  that  either  the  character,  or  the  text,  bears  out  this 
supposition. 
y  Campbell  {Life  of  Mrs  Siddons,  ii,  185),  The  idea  .of  omitting  the  ghost  of  Ban- 
quo  was  suggested  to  Kemble  by  some  verses  of  the  poet  Edward  Lloyd.  It  was  a 
mere  crotchet,  and  a  pernicious  departure  from  the  ancient  custom.  There  was  no 
rationality  in  depriving  the  spectator  of  a  sight  of  Banquo's  ghost  merely  because 
the  company  at  Macbeth's  table  are  not  supposed  to  see  it.  But  we  are  not  Mac- 
beth's  guests.  We  are  no  more  a  part  of  their  company  than  we  are  a  part  of  the 
scenes  or  the  scene-shifters.  We  are  the  poet's  guests,  invited  to  see  *  Macbeth :'  to 
see  what  he  sees,  and  to  feel  what  he  feels,  caring  comparatively  nothing  about  the 
guests.  I  may  be  told,  perhaps,  that,  according  to  this  reasoning,  we  ought  to  see 
the  dagger  in  the  air  that  floats  before  Macbeth.  But  the  visionary  appearance  of 
an  inanimate  object  and  of  a  human  being  are  by  no  means  parallel  cases.  The 
stage-spectre  of  a  dagger  would  be  ludicrous ;  but  not  so  is  the  stage-spectre  of  a 
man  appearing  to  his  murderer.  Superstition  sanctions  the  latter  representation; 
and  as  to  the  alleged  inconsistency  of  Banquo's  ghost  being  visible  to  us  whilst  it  is 
unseen  by  the  guests,  the  argument  amounts  to  nothing.  If  we  judge  by  sheer 
reason,  no  doubt  we  must  banish  ghosts  from  the  stage  altogether,  but  if  we  regulate 
our  fancy  by  the  laws  of  superstition,  we  shall  find  that  spectres  are  privileged  to 
be  visible  to  whom  they  will ;  so  that  the  exclusion  of  Banquo,  on  this  occasion,  was 
a  violation  of  the  spiritual  peerage  of  the  drama,  an  outrage  on  the  rights  of  ghosts, 
and  a  worthier  spectre  than  Banquo's  never  trod  the  stage. 

[In  1836  Mr  Collier  published  his  *New  Particulars  regarding  the  Works  of 
Shakespeare^  in  which  he  mentions  his  discovery,  among  the  Ashmolean  MSS,  of  Dr 
Forman's  journal,  which,  under  date  20th  of  April,  1610,  contains  an  allusion  to  the 
appearance  on  the  stage  of  Banquo's  ghost.  For  this  extract  from  Forman's  journal 
see  Appendix,  p.  384.  Ed.] 

Knight.  We  are  met  on  the  threshold  of  this  argument  [viz. :  that  it  was  Dun- 
can's Ghost  that  first  appeared,  a  point  to  which  Knight's  attention  was  called  by  a 
*  gentleman  personally  unknown '  to  him,  to  whom  in  turn  it  had  been  propounded 
by  *one  who  called  himself  an  actor.'  Ed.]  by  the  original  stage-direction.  We 
should  be  inclined,  with  Kemble,  Capel  Lofft,  and  Tieck,  to  reject  any  visible  ghost 
altogether,  but  for  this  stage-direction,  and  it  equally  compels  us  to  admit  in  this 


ACT  nx,  sc.  iv.]  MA  CBETH.  1 69 

Were  the  graced  person  of  our  Banquo  present; 

place  the  Ghost  of  Banquo,  Is  there  anything  in  the  text  inconsistent  with  the 
stage-direction  ?  It  is  a  piece  of  consummate  art  that  Macbeth  should  see  his  own 
chair  occupied  by  the  vision  of  him  whose  presence  he  has  just  affected  to  desire,  in 
line  41.  His  first  exclamation,  line  50,  is  the  common  evasion  of  one  perpetrating 
a  crime  through  the  instrumentality  of  another.  If  it  be  Duncan^  ghost,  we  must 
read :  *  Thou  canst  not  say  I  did  it.*  The  same  species  of  argument  which  makes 
lines  71-73  apply  only  to  Duncan  b  equally  strong  against  the  proposed  change. 
If  the  second  ghost  be  that  of  Banquo,  how  can  it  be  said  of  him,  *  Thy  bones  are 
marrawless  ?^  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  these  terms,  throttghout  the  scene^  must 
be  received  as  general  expressions  of  the  condition  of  death  as  opposed  to  that  of 
life,  and  have  no  more  direct  reference  to  Duncan  than  to  Banquo.  There  is  a 
coincidence  of  passages  pointed  out  by  our  correspondent  which  strongly  makes,  as 
admitted  by  him,  against  the  opinion  which  he  conmiunicates  to  us.  It  is  found  in 
the  *  twenty  trenched  gashes  on  his  head^  mentioned  by  the  murderer,  and  ^^*  twenty 
mortal  murthers  on  their  crowns^  alluded  to  by  Macbeth. 

But  there  is  no  direction  in  the  Folio  for  the  disappearance  of  the  Ghost  before 
Macbeth  exclaims, '  If  I  stand  here,  I  saw  him.'  The  direction  which  we  find  is 
modem.  After  *  Give  me  some  wine,  fill  full,'  we  have  in  the  Folio,  *Enter  Ghost,* 
Now  then  arises  the  question.  Is  this  the  ghost  of  Banquo  ?  To  make  the  ghost  of 
Banquo  return  a  second  time  at  the  moment  when  Macbeth  wishes  for  the  presence 
of  Banquo  is  not  in  the  highest  style  of  art.  The  stage-direction  does  not  prevent 
us  arguing  that  here  it  may  be  the  ghost  of  Duncan.  The  terror  of  Macbeth  is  now 
more  intense  than  on  the  first  appearance ;  it  becomes  desperate  and  defying.  In 
the  presence  of  the  ghost  of  Banquo,  when  he  is  asked,  *  Are  you  a  man  ?'  he  replies, 
*  Ay,  and  a  bold  one  that  dare  look  on  that  Which  might  appal  the  devil.'  Upon 
the  second  apparition  it  is,  *  Avaunt  and  quit  my  sight ' — *  Take  any  shape  but  that ' 
— *  Hence,  horrible  shadow  !*  Are  not  these  words  applied  to  some  object  of  greater 
terror  than  the  former  ?  Have  there  not  been  two  spectral  appearances,  as  implied 
in  the  expressions,  *  Can  such  things  be  ?'  and  *  When  now  I  think  you  can  behold 
such  sights  !*  We,  of  course,  place  little  confidence  in  this  opinion,  although  we 
confess  to  a  strong  inclination  towards  it. 

Collier  (ed.  i).  [It  was  from  H.  C.  Robinson  that  Mr  Collier  learned  that  «it 
was  the  opinion  of  the  late  Benjamin  Strutt '  that  the  second  ghost  *  was  that  of 
Duncan  and  not  of  Banquo.']  This  opinion  deserves  to  be  treated  with  every 
respect,  but  it  seems  rather  one  of  those  conjectures  in  which  original  minds  indulge, 
than  a  criticism  founded  upon  a  correct  interpretation  of  the  text.  Macbeth  would 
not  address  *  And  dare  me  to  the  desert  with  thy  sword '  to  the  shade  of  the  vener- 
able Duncan ;  and  *  Thou  hast  no  speculation  in  those  eyes,'  &c.  is  the  appearance 
that  eyes  would  assume  just  after  death. 

Dyce  (Remarks,  &c.,  p.  197).  I  am  arrogant  enough  to  think  that  Strutt's  opinion 
is  worthy  of  all  contempt.  In  the  first  place,  it  is  certain  that  the  stage-directions 
which  are  found  in  the  early  eds.  of  plays  were  designed  solely  for  the  instruction 
of  the  actors,  not  for  the  benefit  of  the  readers ;  and  consequently,  if  Sh.  had  in- 
tended the  Ghost  of  Duncan  to  appear  as  well  as  the  Ghost  of  Banquo,  he  would 
no  doubt  have  carefully  distinguished  them  in  the  stage-directions,  and  not  have 
risked  the  possibility  of  the  wrong  Ghost  being  sent  on  by  the  prompter.  Secondly, 
it  is  certain  that  when  Dr  Forman  saw  Macbeth  acted  at  the  Globe,  the  Ghost  of 

15 


1 70  MA  CBETH.  [act  hi,  sc.  iv. 

Who  may  I  rather  challenge  for  unkindness 

42.     Who\  Whom  Pope,  +,  Huds.  White,  Ktly. 

Duncan  did  not  appear.  [In  reply  to  a  remark  of  Knight's  given  above,  Dyce 
adds :]  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  the  introduction  of  two  ghosts  would  have  been 
less  artistic  than  the  bringing  back  the  ghost  of  Banquo ;  we  have  indeed  in  Rich. 
Ill :  V,  iii,  elevtn  ghosts  on  the  stage  at  once ;  but  th^re  is  a  vast  difference  between 
ghosts  walking  in  and  out  of  a  banqueting-hall  crowded  with  company,  and  ghosts 
standing,  in  the  dead  of  night,  before  the  tents  of  two  sleeping  princes.  If  Sh.  had 
brought  in  the  Ghost  of  Banquo  a  third  time,  and  had  also  made  the  murder  of 
Lady  Macduff  precede  the  banquet,  no  doubt  some  ingenious  gentleman  would  have 
come  forward  to  prove  that  the  third  ghost  was  Lady  Macduff^  s. 

Hunter.  I  cannot  but  incline  to  the  opinion  of  those  who  think  that  the  Ghosts 
of  both  Duncan  and  Banquo  appear  at  the  banquet.  If  we  must  support  the  integ- 
rity of  the  stage-directions  in  this  scene,  when  we  have  so  much  evidence  that  the 
stage-directions  in  other  parts  of  the  play  are  corrupted,  we  must  at  least  change  <  Enter 
Ghost '  for  <  Re-enter  Ghost,'  if  one  and  the  same  Ghost  is  intended.  But  I  have  so 
little  faith  in  the  accuracy  with  which  the  stage-directions  of  this  play  have  come  down 
to  us,  that  I  can  believe  that  in  the  prior  direction  about  the  Ghost  <  Banquo '  has  got  in 
by  mistake,  superseding  *  Duncan.'  In  questions  like  these,  we  must  be  content  with 
probabilities.  The  chief  probability  lies  here :  that  the  figure  presented  to  the  mind's 
eye  of  Macbeth  was  that  of  a  person  who  had  been  buried,  see  lines  7 1-73.  Now 
Banquo  was  then  so  recently  dead  that  there  had  been  no  interment  of  him,  while 
Duncan  had  been  honourably  entombed,  see  II,  iv,  33-35.  Then  that  the  second 
ghost  is  Banquo's  appears  probable  from  this  circumstance,  that  it  is  the  ghost  of  a 
soldier,  not  of  a  peaceable  person  such  as  Duncan  was, — lines  103,  104  are  like 
what  would  occur  to  the  mind  of  Macbeth  encountering  in  this  manner  one  whom 
he  had  so  often  seen  in  the  field.  I  cannot  go  the  length  of  affirming  that  the  words 
of  Forman  are  conclusive  against  the  appearance  of  any  other  ghost.  I  think  it 
more  in  Sh.'s  manner  to  bring  in  both  than  to  make  one  ghost  appear,  depart  without 
apparent  reason,  and  re-appear  for  no  particular  purpose.  Richard  is  appalled  by 
the  ghosts  of  all  whom  he  had  murdered.  Again  Macbeth  seems  to  speak  of  more 
than  one  when  he  says,  *such  sights^  line  114.  It  might  undoubtedly  be  but  the 
seeing  twice  the  same  figure,  but  the  construction  would  rather  lead  us  to  believe 
that  Rosse  understood  Macbeth  to  speak  of  more  objects  than  one.  Lastly,  when 
Macbeth  utters  lines  136-138,  it  seems  as  if  the  visions  he  had  just  witnessed  had 
brought  both  his  great  victims  to  his  remembrance,  and  placed  them  in  the  light  of 
his  countenance. 

Fletcher  (p.  173).  We  feel  a  sort  of  humiliation  in  reflecting  that  the  invet- 
,  erate  attachment  of  managers  and  auditors  to  so  glaring  a  perversion  should  compel 
us  to  insist  for  a  single  moment  upon  the  fact  that  so  leading  an  intention  of  the 
dramatist,  in  this  most  conspicuous  instance  of  its  display,  is  not  merely  injured,  but 
is  utterly  subverted,  by  placing  before  the  hero's  bodily  eyes,  and  ours,  an  actual 
blood-stained  figure;  the  result  of  which  contrivance  is,  that  so  far  from  marvelling, 
as  Sh.  meant  his  audience  to  do,  at  the  violence  of  imagination  which  could  force 
so  unreal  an  apparition  upon  Macbeth's  *  heat-oppressed  brain,'  our  wonder  must  be 
if  he.  or  any  man,  were  not  to  start  and  rave  at  the  entrance  of  so  strange  a  visitor, 
not  to  mention  the  precious  outrage  to  our  senses  in  the  visibility  of  this  unaccountable 


ACT  III,  sc.  iv.]  MA  CBETH.  tji 

Than  pity  for  mischance !  43 

43.     mischance  f\  Pope,     mischance,  Ff,  Cap. 

personage  to  us,  the  distant  audience,  while  he  is  invisible  to  every  one  of  the  guests 
who  crowd  the  table  at  which  he  seats  himself  in  the  only  vacant  chair. 

White.  It  was  the  thought  of  Banquo  that  troubled  Macbeth's  soul,  and  the 
ghost  appears  to  him  immediately  upon  his  allusion  to  his  murdered  friend  and  fel- 
low-soldier.  More  than  this :  Macbeth's  first  words  to  the  apparition  arc,  *  Thou  canst 
not  say  /  did  it,*  which  was  exactly  what  Duncan  could  have  said.  That  this  first 
ghost  is  Banquo' s  is  beyond  a  doubt ;  and  that  the  second  is  also  his,  seems  almost 
equally  clear  from  like  considerations  of  Macbeth's  mental  preoccupation  with  the 
recent  murder,  aiid  the  appearance  of  the  Ghost  again  upon  a  renewed  bravadoing 
attempt  to  forestall  suspicion  by  the  complimentary  mention  of  Banquo's  name.  To 
all  which  must  be  added  Dr  Forman's  testimony. 

Halliwell.  Macbeth  would  not  have  challenged  the  old  King  Duncan  to  a  duel 
in  the  desert ;  see  line  104. 

Elwin  [following  the  Ff  in  the  insertion  of  this  stage-direction  after  line  37]. 
Macbeth's  attention  is  first  directed  towards  the  Queen,  and  afterwards  to  his  guests ; 
and  as  his  restlessness  renders  him  averse  to  being  seated,  he  involuntarily  averts  his 
observation  from  the  vacant  place,  until  he  is  compelled,  by  reiterated  entreaties,  to 
recognize  it,  and  does  not,  therefore,  immediately  perceive  the  apparition.  The 
dramatic  conception,  finely  to  indicate  the  sensations  of  the  man  and  to  excite  the 
interest  of  the  audience,  who  await  this  recognition,  is  very  perfect. 

BucKNiLL  (p.  27).  It  is  markworthy  that  the  ghost  of  Banquo  is  seen  by  no  one 
but  Macbeth,  differing  in  this  respect  from  that  of  Hamlet's  father.  Moreover,  Ban- 
quo's ghost  is  silent,  indicating  that  it  is  an  hallucination,  not  an  apparition.  The 
progress  of  the  morbid  action  is  depicted  with  exquisite  skill.  First,  there  is  the 
horrible  picture  of  the  imagination  not  transferred  to  the  sense ;  then  there  is  the 
sensual  hallucination  whose  reality  is  questioned  and  rejected ;  and  now  there  is  the 
sensual  hallucination  whose  reality  is  fully  accepted.  Are  we  to  accept  the  repeated 
assurance,  both  from  Macbeth,  and  his  wife,  that  he  is  subject  to  sudden  fits  of  men- 
tal bereavement  ?  or  was  it  a  ready  lie,  coined  on  the  spur  of  the  moment,  as  an 
excuse  for  his  strange  behavior?  Macbeth,  at  this  juncture,  is  in  a  state  of  mind 
closely  bordering  upon  disease,  if  he  have  not  actually  passed  the  limit.  He  is  hal- 
lucinated, and  he  believes  in  the  hallucination.  The  reality  of  the  air-drawn  daggfer 
he  did  not  believe  in,  but  referred  its  phenomena  to  their  proper  source.  Between 
that  time  and  the  appearance  of  Banquo  the  stability  of  Macbeth's  reason  had  under- 
gone a  fearful  ordeal.  He  lacked  *  the  season  of  all  natures — sleep  ;*  or  when  he 
did  sleep,  it  was  *  In  the  affliction  of  those  terrible  dreams  That  shake  us  nightly.' 
Waking,  he  made  his  companions  of  the  'sorriest  fancies';  and  'on  the  torture  of 
the  mind  *  he  lay  *  in  restless  ecstacy.*  In  the  point  of  view  of  psychological  criti- 
cism, the  fear  of  his  wife  in  II,  ii,  33,  34,  appears  on  the  eve  of  being  fulfilled  by  the 
man,  when  to  sleepless  nights,  and  days  of  brooding  melancholy  is  added  that  un- 
deniable indication  of  insanity,  a  credited  hallucination.  It  was  in  reality  fulfilled 
in  the  case  of  the  woman,  although,  at  the  point  we  have  reached,  she  offers  a  cha- 
racter little  likely,  on  her  next  appearance,  to  be  the  subject  of  profound  and  fatal 
insanity.  Macbeth,  however,  saved  himself  from  actual  insanity  by  rushing  from 
the  maddening  horrors  of  meditation  into  a  course  of  decisive,  resolute  action. 
From  henceforth  he  gave  himself  no  time  to  reflect ;  he  made  the  firstlings  of  his 


1 7 2  MA  CBETH.  [act  hi.  sc.  iv. 

Ross,  His  absence,  sir, 

Lays  blame  upon  his  promise.     Please't  your  highness 
To  grace  us  with  your  royal  company.  45 

Macb,     The  table's  full. 

Len,  Here  is  a  place  reserved,  sir. 

Macb.     Where  ? 

Len,     Here,  my  good  lord.     What  is*t  that  moves  your  high- 
ness? 

Macb,     Which  of  you  have  done  this  ? 

Lords,  What,  my  good  lord  ? 

44.  Please't']  Ff,  Dav.  +  ,Cap.  Dyce,  45.     [starting.  Rowe,  +,  Cap. 

Sta.  White,  Glo.  Cam.  Cla.   Huds.  ii.  46.     Here  tt]  Here's  Pope  ii,  Theob. 

Please  it  Steev.  et  cet.  Warb.  Sing.  Huds.  i,  Coll.  ii,  Ktly. 

45.  company.]  Dav.  Dyce,  Glo.  Cam.  48.     Capell.     Two  lines,  Ff. 

Cla.  Huds.  ii.     company  f  Ff,  Rowe,  et  my  good  lord]   my  lord  Steev. 

cet.  reading  Where  f„Mghness  f^  on^  lint, 

heart  the  firstlings  of  his  hand ;  he  became  a  fearful  tyrant ;  but  he  escaped  madness. 
This  change  in  him,  however,  effected  a  change  in  his  relations  to  his  wife,  which  in 
her  had  the  opposite  result.  Up  to  this  time  her  action  had  been  that  of  sustaining 
him ;  but  when  he  waded  fon^'ard  in  a  sea  of  blood,  when  his  thoughts  were  acted 
ere  they  were  scanned,  then  her  occupation  was  gone.  Her  attention,  heretofore 
directed  to  her  husband  and  to  outward  occurrences,  was  forced  inwards  upon  that 
wreck  of  all-content  which  her  meditation  supplied.  The  sanitary  mental  influence 
of  action  is  thus  impressively  shown. 

Hudson  (ed.  2).  I  have  long  been  fixed  in  the  thought  that  the  reappearance 
of  the  dead  Banquo  ought,  by  all  means,  to  be  discontinued  on  the  stage.  There 
were  good  reasons  for  its  reappearance  in  Sh.'s  time,  which  do  not  now  exist.  The 
ghost  is  a  thing  existing  only  in  the  diseased  imagination  of  Macbeth  :  a  subjective 
ghost;  and  no  more  objective  than  the  air-drawn  dagger;  the  difference  being  that 
Macbeth  is  there  so  well  in  his  senses  as  to  be  aware  of  the  unreality,  while  he  is 
here  completely  hallucinated.  All  this  is  evident  in  that  the  ghost  is  seen  by  none 
of  the  guests.  In  Sh.'s  time  the  generality  of  the  people  could  not  possiljly  con- 
ceive of  a  subjective  ghost,  but  it  is  not  so  now. 

41.  graced]  Clarendon.  Gracious,  endued  with  graces.  Compare  the  sense  of 
*guiled,'  i.e.,  guileful,  in  Mer.  of  Yen.  Ill,  ii,  97;  lb.  IV,  i,  186, 'blest;'  and 
I  Hen.  IV:  I,  iii,  183,  *  disdained.'  We  have  'graced'  in  much  the  same  sense  as 
here  in  Lear,  I,  iv,  267,  *  A  graced  palace.'  It  is,  however,  possible  that  the  word, 
in  the  present  case,  may  mean  *  honoured,'  '  favoured,'  as  in  Two  Gent,  of  Ver.  I, 
iii,  58. 

42.  Who]  Abbott  (§  274).  The  inflection  of  who  is  frequently  neglected.  [See 
III,  i,  122.] 

may  I]  Singer.  This  seems  to  imply  here  a  wish,  not  an  assertion. 

43-45.  Hunter.  It  is  during  this  speech  of  Ross  that  the  ghost  first  becomes 
visible  to  Macbeth.  He  had  been  about  to  take  his  seat  according  to  the  invitation 
of  Lennox,  but  now,  full  of  horror,  instead  of  doing  so,  he  starts  back,  which  leads 
to  the  invitation  of  Ross. 


ACT  III,  sc.  iv.]  MA CBETH,  1 73 

Macb,     Thou  canst  not  say  I  did  it :  never  shake  50 

Thy  gory  locks  at  me. 

Ross,     Gentlemen,  rise ;  his  highness  is  not  well. 

Lady  M.     Sit,  worthy  friends :  my  lord  is  often  thus, 
And  hath  been  from  his  youth :  pray  you,  keep  seat ; 
The  fit  is  momentary ;  upon  a  thought  55 

He  will  again  be  well :  if  much  you  note  him. 
You  shall  offend  him  and  extend  his  passion : 
Feed,  aqd  regard  him  not. — Are  you  a  man  ? 

Macb,     Ay,  and  a  bold  one,  that  dare  look  on  that 
Which  might  appal  the  devil. 

Lady  M,  O  proper  stuff!  60 

This  is  the  very  painting  of  your  fear : 
This  is  the  air-drawn  dagger  which,  you  said, 
Led  you  to  Duncan.     O,  these  flaws  and  starts, 
Impostors  to  true  fear,  would  well  become 

55.     momentary^  momentanyY ^ ^ ^.  60.     0'\  om.  Pope,  Han. 

upon\  on  Pope,  +.  61.     [Aside.  Pope,  +. 

58.     [To  Macbeth.  Rowe.    To  Macb.  64.     Impostors  to  true\   Imposters  to 

aside.  Pope, +,  Ktly.    Coming  to  M.  and  trueT^,     Impostors  of  true  Yi?iTi,     Im- 

aside  to  him.  Coll.  ii.  postures  of  true  Cap. 

58-83.     Are...is.'\  Aside,  Cap.  t6\  to'  {^toa)  Allen. 

54.  keep  seat]  Clarendon.  Used  like  'keep  house,'  'keep  place,*  'keep 
pace,'  *  keep  promise.* 

55.  thought]  Steevens.  That  is,  as  speedily  as  thought  can  be  exerted.  So  in 
I  Hen.  IV:  II,  iv,  241. 

57.  shall]  Abbott  (J  315).  Shall,  meaning  'to  owe,'  is  connected  with  *  ought,* 
*  must,'  *  it  is  destined.'  Hence  sAa//  was  used  by  the  Elizabethan  authors  with  all 
three  persons  to  denote  inevitable  futurity  without  reference  to  *will*  (desire).  As 
in  the  present  instance  :  *  You  are  sure  to  offend  him.'     So  probably  IV,  iii,  47. 

57.  passion]  Johnson.  Prolong  his  suffering ;  make  his  fit  longer. 

Clarendon.  *  Passion '  is  used  of  any  strong  emotion,  especially  when  outwardly 
manifested. 

60.  proper  stuff]  Clarendon.  Mere  or  absolute  nonsense,  rubbish.  We  have 
'proper'  used  in  a  contemptuous  exclamation  in  Much  Ado  I,  iii,  54,  and  IV,  i,  312. 

63.  flaws]  Dyce  ((7A?w).  A  sudden  commotion  of  mind.  [Under  its  primary 
signification,  as  we  have  it  in  Cor.  V,  iii,  74,  Dyce  cites]  *  A  flaw  (or  gust)  of  wind. 
Tourbillon  de  vent.' — Cotgrave.  *  A  flaw  of  wind  is  a  gust,  which  is  very  violent 
upon  a  sudden,  but  quickly  endeth.' — Smith's  Sea  Grammar^  1627,  p.  46:  the 
second  of  these  quotations  I  owe  to  Mr  Bolton  Comey. 

64.  Impostors]  M.  Mason  (Comments j  &c.,  p.  145).  That  is,  impostors  when 
compared  with  true  fear ;  that  is  the  force  of  *  to '  in  this  place. 

Steevens.  So  also  in  Hen.  VIII :  V,  iv,  9. 

Theobald  (Nichols^  Lit.  Ill,  ii,  525).  I  have  guessed  *  Importers* — i.  e.,  that  con- 
vey, bring  in,  lead  to.     [Theobald  did  not  repeat  this  in  his  ed.  Ed.] 

•5* 


174  MACBETH,  [act  hi,  sc.  iv. 

A  woman*s  story  at  a  winter's  fire,  65 

Authorized  by  her  grandam.     Shame  itself! 
Why  do  you  make  such  faces?     When  all's  done, 
You  look  but  on  a  stool. 

Macb,  Prithee,  see  there !  behold !  look !  lo  I  how  say  you  ? 
Why,  what  care  I  ? — If  thou  canst  nod,  speak  too. —  70 

If  charnel-houses  and  our  graves  must  send 
Those  that  we  bury  back,  our  monuments 
Shall  be  the  maws  of  kites.  \Exit  Ghost. 

Lady  M,  What,  quite  unmanned  in  folly  ? 

69.     Cap.     Two  lines  in  Ff.  Knt.     Ghost  vanishes.    Rowe,  + ,  Cap. 

[Pointing  to  the  Ghost.  Rowe,  +  .         Recovers  hiittself.  Huds.  ii. 
73.     [Exit  Ghost.]    Om.  F,,  Steev.  73.    in  foUy\  om.  Steev.  conj. 

Johnson.  These  symptoms  of  terror  might  better  become  impostures  true  only  to 
fear^  &c. 

Singer  (ed.  2).  Antony  Huish,  in  his  Pricianus  Ephebus,  1668,  says: — 'The 
English  do  eclipse  many  words  which  the  Latines  would  to  be  expressed,  e.  g. — 
There  is  no  enemy — to  him  we  foster  in  our  bosom,  i.  e.  like  to  or  compared  to^  So 
in  Fynes  Moryson's  Itinerary,  161 7,  fol.  part  iii.  p.  5,  'Thus  the  English  proverb 
saith :  "  No  knave  to  the  learned  knave."  ' 

Elwin.  Lady  M.  would  persuade  her  husband  that  his  cause  of  terror  is  merely 
fanciful,  by  the  argument  that  such  brief  and  changing  expressions  of  fear,  as  he 
exhibits,  are  only  impostors  compared  with  what  its  steady  expression  would  be,  if 
the  Spirit  of  Banquo  were  really  present. 

Walker  (CWV.  iii,  256).  Two  Noble  Kinsmen  I,  iii,  *old  Importment's  bastard.' 

Bailey  (ii,  33).  Lady  M.  says  that  what  he  is  frightened  at  is  merely  visionary, 
and  that  he  ought  to  be  ashamed  of  making  gestures  and  starts,  such  as  belong  to 
occasions  when  there  is  something  real  to  be  afraid.  I  therefore  propose  *  The  pos- 
tures of  ;  ^c.   Compare  Hen.  VIII :  III,  ii,  112-119. 

Clarendon.  See  i  Hen.  VI :  III,  ii,  25,  and  Cymb.  Ill,  iii,  26. 

Abbott  {\  187).  See  note  on  III,  iii,  4, 

66.  Authorized]  Walker  {Vers.  194).  Auth6rized.     [Abbott.  (J  491.)] 

Clarendon.  Used  in  the  sense  of  'justify'  in  Sonn.  xxxv,  6.  The  word  is  not 
found  in  Milton's  poetical  works.  Dryden  uses  it  with  the  accent  either  on  the  firi.t, 
or  second,  syllable. 

73.  kites]  Steevens.  The  same  thought  occurs  in  Spenser's  Fairy  Queen^  II,  viii, 
16,  *  What  herce  or  steed  (said  he)  should  he  have  dight.  But  be  entombed  in  the 
raven  or  the  kight?* 

Harry  Rowe.  It  was  a  vulgar  notion  that  the  food  of  carnivorous  birds  passed 
their  stomachs  undigested.  For  this  illustration  I  am  indebted  to  a  book  written 
many  years  ago  by  Dr  Brown,  under  the  title  of  '  Vulgar  Errors.' 

Clarendon.  So  in  Fairfax's  Tasso,  Bk  xii,  st.  79 :  Let  that  self  monster  me  in 
pieces  rend.  And  deep  entomb  me  in  his  hollow  chest.'  *  Gorgias  Leontinus  called 
vultures  "  living  sepulchres,"  yvrref  Ifi^lwxot  rd^i,  for  which  he  incurred  the  censure 
of  Longinus.' — ^JoRTlN. 


ACT  III.  sc.  iv.]  MACBETH.  1 75 

Macb,     If  I  stand  here,  I  saw  him. 

Lady  M.  Fie,  for  shame ! 

Macb,     Blood  hath  been  shed  ere  now,  i*  the  olden  time,      75 
Ere  human  statute  purged  the  gentle  weal ; 
Ay,  and  since  too,  murders  have  been  perform'd 
Too  terrible  for  the  ear :  the  time  has  been, 

75.  now,  r]  now,  P  Daniel.  Seymour.) 

olden'\  t7/</<f  Rowe  i.     tlden  Scy'  76.    humane, ,.gentle\ gentle... humane 

mour.  Leo  conj. 

76.  human'\  Theob.  ii.  humane  Ff,  77.    have'\  hath  Johns. 

Cam.  Cla.  Huds.  ii.  78.    time  has\  White,  Cam.  Dyce  ii, 

gentle"]    general   Warb.    Theob.         Huds.  ii.  times  has  F,.   times  have  F,Fj 
Cap.  Walker,    ungentle  C.  Lofft.   (?  ap.        F^  et  cet. 

i 

75.  i*  the]  Clarke.  *  Even*  is  elliptically  understood  before  these  words. 

76.  human]  Walker  {Crit.  ii,  244).  Human  is  here,  I  think,  civilized. 
Clarendon.  The  two  meanings  *  human '  and  *  humane '  (like  those  of  *  travel  * 

and  *  travail,' — II,  iv,  7)  were  not  in  Sh.*s  time  distinguished  by  a  different  spelling 
and  pronunciation.  In  lx)th  cases  the  word  was  pronounced  by  Sh.  with  the  accent 
on  the  first  syllable.  See,  for  instance.  Cor.  Ill,  i,  327.  There  seems  to  be  one  ex- 
ception in  Wint.  Tale,  III,  ii,  166.  In  0th.  II,  i,  243,  it  occurs  in  prose.  Milton 
observes  the  modem  distinction  in  sense  and  pronunciation  between  *  human  *  and 
*  humane.*  There  are,  as  might  be  expected,  some  passages  in  Sh.  where  it  is  diffi- 
cult to  determine  which  of  the.two  senses  best  fits  the  word.  Indeed  both  might  be 
blended  in  the  mind  of  the  writer. 

gentle]  Warburton.  I  have  reformed  the  text,  *  general  weal;*  and  it  is  a 
very  fine  periphrasis  to  signify :  ere  civil  societies  were  instituted.  For  the  early 
murders  recorded  in  Scripture  are  here  alluded  to;  and  Macbeth*s  apologizing  for 
murder  from  the  antiquity  of  the  example  is  very  natural.  [Walker  (Cr/V.  ii,  244) 
makes  the  same  conjecture.  Ed.] 

Johnson.  The  peaceable  community ,  the  state  made  quiet  and  safe  by  human 
statutes. 

Capell  (Notes  ii,  18).  A  *weaV  that  wanted  purging  by  laws  is  improperly  dis- 
tinguish*d  by  the  epithet  *  gentle.^ 

M.  Mason.  Read  golden,  in  allusion  to  the  Golden  Age,  that  state  of  innocence 
which  did  not  require  the  aid  of  human  laws  to  render  it  quiet  and  secure. 

Clarendon.  Gentle  is  here  to  be  taken  proleptically ;  *  Ere  humane  statute  purged 
the  common  weal  and  made  it  gentle.'  Compare  for  the  same  construction  I,  vi,  3 
and  Rich.  II :  II,  iii,  94.  For  '  weal  *  see  V,  ii,  27.  The  word  was  used  by  Milton, 
as  it  is  used  now,  only  in  the  phrase  *  weal  and  woe.* 

77.  murders]  Clarendon.  The  shedding  of  blood  became  murder  after  humane 
statute  had  defined  it  as  a  crime. 

78.  time  has]  Dyce  (ed.  2).  The  reading  of  F,  is  very  objectionable  on  account 
of  the  *  have  been '  in  the  preceding  line. 

Clarke.  We  think  the  reading  of  F,  is  more  probably  the  original  sentence,  in- 
asmuch as  Macbeth  is  referring  to  two  former  periods, — before  human  laws  existed, 
and  since  then. 


176 


MACBETH, 


[act  III,  sc.  iv. 


That,  when  the  brains  were  out,  the  man  would  die, 

And  there  an  end ;  but  now  they  rise  again,  80 

With  twenty  mortal  murders  on  their  crowns, 

And  push  us  from  our  stools :  this  is  more  strange 

Than  such  a  murder  is. 

Lady  M.  My  worthy  lord. 

Your  noble  friends  do  lack  you. 

Macb.  I  do  forget. — 

Do  not  muse  at  me,  my  most  worthy  friends ;  85 

I  have  a  strange  infirmity,  which  is  nothing 
To  those  that  know  me.     Come,  love  and  health  to  all  ; 
Then  I'll  sit  down. — Give  me  some  wine,  fill  full. — 
I  drink  to  the  general  joy  o'  the  whole  table. 
And  to  our  dear  friend  Banquo,  whom  we  miss ; —  90 

Would  he  were  here ! — to  all,  and  him,  we  thirst, 
And  all  to  all. 

Lords.  Our  duties,  and  the  pledge. 

Re-enter  Ghost. 

Macb,     Avaunt !  and  quit  my  sight  1  let  the  earth  hide  thee ! 


81.     murders\  gashes  Huds.  ii. 

83.  [Returning  to  her  state.]  Coll.  ii. 
[Aside.  Ktly. 

84.  do  forget]  forgot  Pope,  Han. 
87.     Cofne,']  om.  Pope,  Han. 

89.     <?']  Ff,  Jen.  Dyce,  White,  Glo. 
Cla.  Huds.  ii.     of  Rowe,  et  cet. 

91.     ally  and]  F^.    all;  and  F^F^F^. 
93.     Re-enter   Ghost.]    Coll.     Enter 


Ghost.  Ff.  As  he  is  drinking,  the  Ghost 
rises  again  just  before  him.  Rowe.  The 
Ghost  rises  again.  Pope,  + ,  Cap.  Enter 
Banquo*s  Ghost.  Seymour.  Enter  Dun- 
can's Ghost.  Strutt. 

93.  Re-enter  Ghost.]  Pope.  After 
88.  Ff,  Rowe,  Knt,  Coll.  After  89. 
Steev.  Var.  Sing.  Huds.  After  92.  H. 
Rowe,  White. 


Clarendon.  This,  like  all  the  corrections  made  in  F,,  is  merely  a  conjectural 
emendation. 

81.  mortal  murders]  Walker  {Cn't.  i,  302).  Murders  occurs  four  lines  above, 
and  murder  two  lines  below.  This,  by  the  way,  would  alone  be  sufficient  to  prove 
that  murders  was  corrupt.  ^Afortal  murders,'  too,  seems  suspicious ;  compare  ^deadly 
murder,*  Hen.  V:  HI,  iii,  32.     [See  Rom.  &  Jul.  HI,  v,  233.  Ed.] 

Lettsom  (ap.  Dyce  ii).  Read  'mortal  gashes.^  He  is  thinking  of  what  he  has 
just  heard  from  the  murderer.  [Bailey  and  Staunton  make  the  same  conjecture. 
Ed.] 

85.  muse]  Steevens.  To  wonder,  to  be  in  amaze.  See  2  Hen.  IV:  IV,  i,  167, 
and  All's  Well,  II,  v,  70. 

92.  all  to  all]  Warburton.  All  good  wishes  to  all ;  such  as  he  had  named 
above,  love^  health  and  joy, 

Johnson.  I  once  thought  it  should  be  hail  to  all. 

Clarendon.  See  Timon,  I,  ii,  334:  *All  to  you.'     Also  Hen.  VIII:  I,  iv,  38. 


ACT  III,  sc.  iv.]  MA  CBETH.  177 

Thy  bones  are  marrowless,  thy  blood  is  cold ; 

Thou  hast  no  speculation  in  those  eyes  95 

Which  thou  dost  glare  with. 

Lady  M,  Think  of  this,  good  peers, 

But  as  a  thing  of  custom :  *tis  no  other ; 
Only  it  spoils  the  pleasure  of  the  time. 

Macb.     What  man  dare,  I  dare : 
Approach  thou  like  the  rugged  Russian  bear,  100 

The  arm'd  rhinoceros,  or  the  Hyrcan  tiger; 

loi.  the  Hyrcafi]  M'  Hircan  F,F,.  Pope,  +.  Hyrcan  Johns,  the  Hirca- 
tK  Hyrcan   F^F^,   Rowe.     Hyrcanian        nian  Cap. 

Staunton  {The  Athenceum^  19  October,  1872).  I  conceive  we  should  read  ^call 
to  all,'  i.  e.,  I  challenge  all  to  drink  the  toast  with  me.  To  which  the  lords  respond. 
And  at  the  same  time  the  ghost  of  Banquo  again  rises,  as  in  obedience  to  the  call. 
Perhaps  in  the  original  arrangements  of  the  feast  upon  the  stage,  the  ghost,  on  his 
second  appearance,  bore  a  goblet  in  his  hand.  I  am  not  sure  that  there  is  a  mis* 
print  in  this  place,  but  if  *  all  to  all  *  is  right,  it  certainly  needs  elucidation. 

95.  speculation]  Steevens.  So  in  the  115th  Psalm:  * eyes  have  they,  but 

they  see  not.* 

Singer.  BuUokar,  in  his  Expositor,  1616,  explains  ^ Speculation^  the  inward  know- 
ledge, or  beholding  of  a  thing.' 

Clarendon.  Compare  Tro.  and  Cress.,  Ill,  iii,  109.  The  eyes  are  called  *  specu- 
lative instruments*  in  0th.  I,  iii,  271.  Johnson,  (juoting  this  passage,  explains 
*  speculation '  by  *  the  power  of  sight  * ;  but  it  means  more  than  this, — the  intelli- 
gence of  which  the  eye  is  the  medium,  and  which  is  perceived  in  the  eye  of  a  living 
man.  So  the  eye  is  called  *  that  most  pure  spirit  of  sense,*  in  Tro.  and  Cress.,  Ill, 
iii,  106;  and  we  have  the  haste  that  looks  through  the  eyes,  I,  ii,  46  of  this  play, 
and  a  similar  thought.  III,  i,  127.  See  also  i  Hen.  VI :  II,  iv,  24,  and  Love*s  Lab., 
V,  ii,  848. 

98.  Only]  Abbott  (J  420).  The  Elizabethan  authors  allowed  themselves  great 
license  in  the  transposition  of  adverbs.  Such  transpositions  are  most  natural  and 
frequent  in  the  case  of  adverbs  of  limitation,  as  but^  only^  even^  &c.  See  also  III, 
vi,  2. 

loi.  Hyrcan]  Tollet.  In  Holland's  trans,  of  Pliny's  Natural  History,  p.  122, 
mention  is  made  of  the  Hyrcane  sea. 

Malone.  So  Daniel,  Sonnets,  1 594:  * restore  thy  fierce  and  cruel  mind  To 

Hyrcan  tygers,  and  to  ruthless  beares.* 

Reed.  In  Riche's  Second  Part  of  Simonides,  1584,  we  have  '  Contrariewise  these 
souldiers,  like  to  Hyrcan  tygers,  revenge  themselves  on  their  own  bowelles.* 

Clarendon.  The  name  'Hyrcania*  was  given  to  a  country  of  undefined  limits 
south  of  the  Caspian,  which  was  also  called  the  Hyrcanian  Sea.  The  English  poets 
probably  derived  their  ideas  of  Hyrcania  and  the  tigers  from  Pliny,  Natural  History, 
Bk  viii,  c.  18,  but  through  some  other  medium  than  Holland's  trans.,  which  was  not 
published  till  1601.  It  is  perhaps  worth  notice  that  the  rhinoceros  is  mentioned  in 
Holland's  Pliny  on  the  page  opposite  to  that  on  which  he  speaks  of  '  tigers  bred  in 
Hircania.* 

M 


1 78  MACBETH.  [act  hi,  sc.  iv. 

Take  any  shape  but  that,  and  my  firm  nerves 

Shall  never  tremble  :  or  be  alive  again, 

And  dare  me  to  the  desert  with  thy  sword ; 

If  trembling  I  inhabit  then,  protest  me  105 

103.  or  be\  O  be  Rowe  ii.  Be  Pope,  habit  then  Jen,  conj.  /  inhibit  thee, 
Han.  Steev.  Mai.  Rann,  Var.  Dyce  ii.    trem- 

105.     I  inhabit  then^Y  ^,    I  inhabit,  blinglyinhabile,  then 'BtcVti.    I  inhabit 

then   FgF  F^,  Johns.   Coll.      I  inhibit,  M^^,  Dei.  conj.     I  inhibit^  AWtn. 

then  Pope,  +,  Hal.    I  inhibit  then.  Cap.  105.  protest^  protect  F^. 
Elwin.     /  in  habit  then,  Jen.     /,  in 

104.  desert]  Malone.  We  have  nearly  the  same  thought  in  Rich.  U :  IV,  i,  73. 
Forsyth  (p.  82).  The  parallels,  or  resemblances,  to  be  found  in  his  works  form 

another  point  in  close  connectipn  with  Sh.*s  position  as  an  incomparable  literary 
artist.  .  .  .  Another  example  of  similarity  is  somewhat  curious  as  involving  a  sin- 
gular kind  of  defiance  which  it  was  probably  customary,  in  Sh.'s  days,  to  use.  Imo- 
gen says  of  Cloten  [Cjrmb.  I,  i,  167],  when  she  heard  he  had  drawn  his  sword  on 
her  banished  Posthumus :  « I  would  they  were  in  Afric  both  together.*  Volumnia 
[Cor.  IV,  ii,  24]  expresses  a  similar  wish  to  Sicinus  regarding  Coriolanus :  *  I  would 
my  son  Were  in  Arabia  and  thy  tribe  before  him,*  &c. 
Clarendon.  Compare  Rich.  II :  I,  i,  62-66. 

105.  inhabit]  Theobald  (Sh,  Restored,  p.  186).  Inhibit  is  always  neuter;  if 
therefore  it  be  the  word  here  (which  I  am  not  absolutely  satisfied  about)  we  must 
correct  thus :  *  If  trembling  me  inhibit,'  &c.  i.  e.,  if  the  influence  of  fear  prevent  me 
from  following  thee,  &c. 

Warburton.  Inhibit  for  re/use. 

Johnson.  The  old  reading  may  stand,  at  least  as  well  as  the  emendation.  Sup- 
pose we  read,  evade  it, 

Robinson  [Gent.  Mag.,\o\.  lix,  p.  1201.  1789).  Perhaps  it  should  ht  exhibit,  and 
the  participle  considered  as  a  substantive. 

[Harry  Rowe  adopted  this  reading,  and  it  is  also  found  in  the  Coll.  (MS).  Ed.] 

Steevens.  Sh.  uses  inhibit  frequently  in  the  sense  here  required.  See  0th.,  I, 
vii,  79;  Ham.,  II,  ii,  346.     To  inhibit  is  to  forbid. 

Malone.  I  have  not  the  least  doubt  that  '  inhibit  thee  *  is  the  true  reading.  In 
All's  Well,  I,  i,  157,  we  find  in  F^F  F^  '  the  most  inhabited  sin  of  the  canon'  instead 
of  'inhibited.*  The  same  error  is  found  in  Stowe's  I^ondon,  1618:  'In  the  year 
1506,  .  .  .  the  said  stew-houses  in  Southwarke  were  for  a  season  inhabited,  and  the 
doores  closed  up,  but  it  was  not  long  .  .  .  ere  the  houses  there,  were  set  open 
again.'  Steevens's  correction  [^thee  for  *  then ']  is  strongly  supported  by  the  punc- 
tuation of  the  old  copy.     [Dyce  ii. 

Henley.  'Inhabit^  needs  no  alteration.  The  obvious  meaning  is,  '  Should  you 
challenge  me  to  encounter  you  in  the  desert,  and  I,  through  fear,  remain  trembling 
in  my  castle,  then  protest  me,'  &c.  Sh.  here  uses  the  verb  *  inhabit '  in  a  neutral 
sense,  to  express  continuance  in  a  given  situation.  So  also  Milton :  *  Meanwhile 
inhabit  lax,  ye  powers  of  heaven  !'     [Sta, 

Steevens.  To  *  inhabit '  may  undoubtedly  have  a  meaning  like  that  suggested  by 
Henley.  As  in  As  You  Like  It,  III,  iii,  10.  It  is  not,  therefore,  impossible  that 
by  *  inhabit  *  Sh.  capriciously  meant  *  stay  within  doors.' — *  If,  when  you  have  chal- 
lenged me  to  the  desert,  I  skulk  in  my  house,'  &c. 


ACT  III,  sc.  iv.]  MACBETH,  1 79 

The  baby  of  a  girl.     Hence,  horrible  shadow !  106 

106.     horrible]  terrible  Theob.  ii,  Warb.  Johos. 

TooKE  [Div.  of  Purleyy  p.  339.  London,  1857).  One  can  hardly  suppose  a  diffi- 
culty, the  original  text  is  so  plain,  easy,  and  clear,  and  so  much  in  the  author's  accus- 
tomed manner.  The  passage  means,  If  then  I  do  not  meet  thee  there :  if  trembling 
I  stay  at  home,  or  within  doors,  or  under  any  roof,  or  within  any  habitation,  \SiHg, 
Knt,  ColL  Huds. 

Anonymous.  Sh.  generally  uses  'inhabit*  neutrally.  As  in  Temp.,  Ill,  iii,  57; 
Two  Gent.,  V,  iv,  7;  Rich.  II:  IV,  i,  143;  and  Com.  of  Err.,  Ill,  ii,  161. 

Douce.  Until  we  are  furnished  with  examples  of  the  neutral  use  of  <  inhabit '  it 
may  be  boldly  said,  and  without  difficulty  maintained,  that  inhibit^  in  point  of  mean- 
ing, was  Sh.'s  word.  Nor  is  it  a  paradox  to  affirm  that  inhabit  is  also  right,  because 
this  may  be  a  case  where  the  same  word  has  been  spelled  in  different  ways.  To  the 
instances  adduced  by  Malone  may  be  added  a  sentence  in  the  Shepherd'' s  Calendar y 

without  date,  printed  by  Wynkyn  de  Worde,  in  chap,  xxi :  * Correccyon  is  for 

to  inhabyte  &  defende  by  the  bridle  of  reason  all  errowres,*  &c.  Later  editions 
have  inhibit.  Steevens  has  justly  said  *  to  inhibit  is  to  forbid ;^  but  this  cannot  be 
the  present  meaning.  A  man  cannot  well  be  said  to  forbid  another  who  has  chal- 
lenged him.  He  might  indeed  keep  back  or  hesitate^  which  is  the  neutral  sense  now 
offered. 

Nares.  *  Inhabit '  is  evident  nonsense.     Pope's  emendation  appears  indubitable. 

Collier  (ed.  i).  Supposing  the  arguments  equally  balanced,  we  should  prefer  the 
reading  of  the  Ff.  Macbeth  means  to  say  that  he  will  not  refuse  to  meet  the  Ghost 
in  the  desert. 

Dyce  (Remarks,  &c.  p.  199).  For  my  own  part,  though  I  think  Nares  was  rather 
bold,  I  must  yet  entertain  strong  doubts  whether  *  inhabit '  can  be  right ;  and  the 
more  so,  because  Malone  had  adduced  two  passages  where  *  inhabited  *  is  unques- 
tionably an  error  of  the  press  for  *  inhibited.' 

Hunter.  If  the  comma  is  put  after  *  inhabit,'  as  in  the  Ff,  and  not  after  •  then,* 
there  seems  to  be  little  difficulty  in  admitting  that  we  have  a  just  and  proper  read- 
ing :  *  If  I  remain  at  home,'  or,  possibly,  *  If  I  remain  inactive.'  Capell  says  that 
in  Ham.,  Ill,  ii,  346,  *  Inhibition'  is  put  for  *  not  acting,  ceasing  to  exhibit.'     So  if 

*  inhibit '  be  preferred,  the  text  in  other  respects  might  be  justified. 

Collier  [Notes,  &c.  (ed.  2),  p.  424).  We  do  not  quite  approve  of  the  change  of 
the  (MS),  not  because  it  is  not  very  intelligible,  allowing  for  a  transposition,  but  be- 
cause it  is  too  prosaic.     We  have  been  so  used  to  attach  some  indefinite  meaning  to 

*  inhabit '  of  the  Ff,  that  the  reader  will  hardly  be  prepared  for  so  simple  an  expla- 
nation as  *  exhibit.'  Yet,  after  all,  it  may  be  right,  and  is  not  to  be  rejected 
lightly. 

Elwin.  Macbeth  sets  what  he  would  say,  under  other  circumstances,  in  opposition 
to  what  he  has  said,  under  those  in  which  he  stands.  He  has  fearingly  forbidden 
the  Ghost  of  Banquo  his  presence  ('Avaunt!  and  quit  my  sight!');  but,  he  adds, 
take  any  form  but  that,  and  if  trembling  I  inhibit  or  forbid  then,  protest  me,  &c. 

White.  If  I  then  am  encompassed  by  trembling,  and  so,  if  I  inhabit  trembling — 
a  use  of  *  inhabit '  highly  figurative  and  exceedingly  rare,  but  which  is  neither  illogi- 
cal nor  without  example.  *  But  thou  art  holy,  O  thou  that  inhabitest  the  praises  of 
Israel.' — Psalm  xxii,  3.     \_Paton\N.  ^  Qu.  1 1  Dec,  1869). 

Delius.  Those  edd.  who  adopt  inhibit  thee  lose  sight  of  the  fact  that  inhibit^  in 


1 80  MA  CBETH.  [act  hi,  sc.  iv. 

Unreal  mockery,  hence !  [Ghost  disappears, 

107.  [Ghost  disappears.]  Sing,  ii,  +, after ^<;«^.  Mitr  shadow!  F^^F^F^ 
Dyce,  Sta.  White,  Glo.  Cam.  Cla.  Exit.  etcet.  Recovers  himself  again.  Huds,  ii. 
FgFjF^.  om.  F,.  Ghost  vanishes.  Rowe, 

the  sense  of  forbidding  by  virtue  of  superior  authority,  does  not  accord  with  *  trem- 
bling.' 

Bailey  (i,  78).  'Trembling'  is  presumably  wrong,  because  *  tremble '  has  been 
employed  two  lines  above.  *  Inhabit,'  as  well  as  *  inhibit  thee,'  is  absolutely  devoid 
of  significance  where  it  is  placed.  *  If  blenching  I  evade  it,'  comes  tolerably  near  in 
sound,  and  makes  complete  and  appropriate  sense  without  any  falling  off  in  vigour. 

Halliwell.  I  suspect  that  there  were  two  words  in  the  original,  the  second  being 
iV,  and  the  inhab  some  unaccountable  corruption,  perhaps  for  evade.  *  If  trembling 
I  evade  it,'  that  is,  the  meeting,  a  kind  of  loose  construction  very  common  in  Sh. 

Keightley  {Expositor,  &c.,  p.  334).  I  read  evitate  it,  *  Since  therein  she  doth 
evitate  and  shun.' — Merry  Wives,  V,  v,  241.  The  printer  might  easily  make  inhab 
of  evitate  badly  written.     We  might  also  read  evade  or  avoid  it. 

Clarendon.  Mr  Bullock  proposes  *  If  trembling  I  unknight  me ;'  another  conjec- 
ture first  published  in  the  Cambridge  Sh.  is,  *  If  trembling  I  inherit,'  &c.,  where 
*  trembling '  must  be  taken  as  the  accusative  governed  by  *  inherit.'  But  this  seems 
a  strange  expression,  notwithstanding  that  Sh.  uses  *  inherit,'  as  well  as  '  heir,'  in  a 
more  general  sense  than  it  is  used  now-a-days.  .  .  .  We  can  find  no  other  example 
of  *  inhabit  *  used  according  to  Home  Tooke's  interpretation.  .  .  .  Retaining  *  in- 
habit,' a  more  satisfactory  sense  would  be  made  by  substituting  <  here '  for  *  then,'  an 
easy  change. 

D.  C.  T.  {N,  and  Qu,  17  August,  1872).  I  cannot  help  thinking  that  the  key 
to  the  mystery  is  found  if  we  suppose  that  the  pronoun  it,  referring  to  the  *  sword ' 
of  the  previous  line,  has  gone  to  make  the  last  syllable  of  *  inhabit,'  and  must  be 
restored  thence.  I  suggest  yfiwr^  at  it.  If  the  letters yj  /,  c,  were  in  any  way  illegi- 
ble, a  careless  printer,  by  substituting  b  for  /  in  at,  would  most  easily  arrive  at  a  word 
with  which  he  might  make  shift. 

106.  baby]  Walker  [Qrit.  iii.  256).  That  is,  a  little girVs  doll;  call  me  a  mere 
puppet,  a  thing  of  wood.     For  baby  in  the  sense  of  doll  see  Jonson's  Bartholomew 

Fair,  passim.     Sidney,  Arcadia,  B.  iii,  p.  267,  1.  2 :  • and  that  we  see,  young 

babes  think  babies  of  wondrous  excellency,  and  yet  the  babies  are  but  babies.'  As- 
trophel  and  Stella,  Fifth  Song,  p.  552, — 'Sweet  babes  must  babies  have,  but  shrewd 
girls  must  be  beaten.'  {Babe  was  used  only  in  the  sense  of  infant ;  baby  might 
mean  either  infant  or  doll.)  ...  I  have  noticed  it  as  late  as  Farquhar,  or  some  other 
comic  writer  of  that  age. 

White.  Girls  still  retain  this  use  of  the  word  in  *  baby-house.'  They  rarely  or 
never  say,  *  doll-house,'  or  *  doll's  house.* 

Dyce  {Gloss).  A  doll. 

Clarendon.  The  infant  of  a  very  young  mother  would  be  likely  to  be  puny  and 
weak.  Sh.  does  not  elsewhere  use  '  baby '  in  the  sense  attached  to  it  by  Walker. 
The  passage  from  Ham.  I,  iii,  101-105,  tends  to  confirm  the  former  interpretation. 
When  Walker  laid  down  the  limitation  [as  above],  he  forgot  the  passage  in  King 
John,  III,  iv,  58.     Florio  (Ital.  Diet.)  has  '  Pupa,  a  baby  or  puppet  like  a  girle.' 

107.  mockery]  Clarendon.  Mimicry,  because  the  Ghost  assumed  Banquo's 
form.     So,  Tro.  &  Cress.,  Ill,  iii,  153;  Rich.  II:  IV,  i,  260. 


ACT  III,  sc.  iv.]  MA  CBETH.  1 8 1 

Why,  so :  being  gone, 
I  am  a  man  again. — Pray  you,  sit  still. 
Lady  M,    You  have  displaced  the  mirth,  broke  the  good  meet- 
ing, 
With  most  admired  disorder. 

Macb,  Can  such  things  be,  no 

And  overcome  us  like  a  summer's  cloud, 
Without  our  special  wonder?     You  make  me  strange 

107.  being gon/\br gone Y^^^Vo"^,  109,110.  broke. „,disorder.'\  Rowe. 
Han.                                                                  One  line  in  Ff. 

108.  [The  Lords  rise.  Rowe,  +. 

108.  sit  stiU]  Jennens.  Qu.  Whether  it  would  not  be  most  proper  for  the  Lords 
to  rise  immediately  upon  Macbeth's  breaking  out:  *  Avaunt  and  quit  my  sight,'  &c., 
and  that  upon  perceiving  them  standing,  after  he  had  recovered  from  his  fright,  it  is 
that  he  says,  *  Pray  you  sit  still.' 

109.  broke]  Clarendon.  See  I,  iv,  3 ;  V,  viii,  26.  When  the  rhyme  requires  it, 
in  Spenser  and  Fairfax,  we  find  even  *  descend,'  « forsake,'  •  know,'  and  so  forth, 
used  for  *  descended,'  *  forsaken,'  '  known.' 

no.  admired]  Clarendon.  As  *  admired*  is  found  here  in  the  sense  of  *  worthy 
of  wonder,'  so  we  have  *  despised '  for  •  despicable,*  Rich.  II :  II,  iii,  95 ;  *  detested ' 
for  *  detestable,'  lb.  II,  iii,  109;  *unavoided*  for  'unavoidable,'  lb.  II,  i,  268;  'un- 
valued' for  *  invaluable,'  Rich.  Ill :  I,  iv,  27. 

Clarke.  It  also  includes  the  effect  of  being  used  ironically  in  the  sense  of  '  ad- 
mirable.' 

no.  Can]  Warburton.  The  speech  is  given  wrong;  it  is  part  of  the  Lady's 
foregoing  speech,  and,  besides  that,  is  a  little  corrupt.  We  should  read  it  thus : 
*CanU  such  things  be,'  &c.,  i.  e.  cannot  these  visions,  without  so  much  wonder  and 
amazement,  be  presented  to  the  disturbed  imagination  in  the  manner  that  air-visions, 
in  summer  clouds,  are  presented  to  a  wanton  one  ?     Overcome  is  used  for  deceived. 

Johnson.  Can  such  wonders  as  these  pass  over  us  without  wonder,  as  a  casual 
summer  cloud  passes  over  us  ? 

Farmer.  *  Overcome '  in  this  sense  is  to  be  found  in  Spenser's  Fairy  Queen,  Bk 

iii,  c.  vii,  st.  4 :  * A  litle  valley — All  cover'd  with  thicke  woodes  that  quite  it 

overcame.'' 

Clarendon.  Thus  we  find  'overgone'  in  Fairfax's  Tasso,  Bk  viii,  st.  18:  'So 
was  the  place  with  darkness  overgone.' 

Elwin.  Can  such  things  be  and  extend  over  us, — ^that  is,  over  our  spirits, — and 
also  subdue  or  oppress  our  nature,  in  the  same  manner  only  as  a  summer  thunder- 
cloud,  and,  like  it,  excite  in  us  no  particular  surprise  ?  It  alludes  to  the  familiar, 
slightly  oppressive  influence  of  the  atmosphere  of  a  thunder-storm. 

112.  strange]  Heath  {Revisal,  &c.,  p.  399).  You  make  even  my  own  dispo- 
sition, which  I  am  so  well  acquainted  with,  a  matter  of  wonder  and  astonishment  to 
me,  when  I  see  that  those  horrid  sights,  which  so  much  affright  me,  make  not  the 
least  impression  on  you. 

Steevens.  You  prove  to  me  how  false  an  opinion  I  have  hitherto  maintained  of 
my  own  courage,  when  yours,  on  the  trial,  is  found  to  exceed  it. 

Malone.  You  render  me  a  stranger  to,  or  forgetful  of  that  bravi  disposition 
16 


1 8  2  MA  CBE  TH.  [act  hi,  sc.  iv. 

Even  to  the  disposition  that  I  owe, 

When  now  I  think  you  can  behold  such  sights, 

And  keep  the  natural  ruby  of  your  cheeks,  1 1 5 

When  mine  is  blanch'd  with  fear. 

Ross,  What  sights,  my  lord  ? 

Lady  M,     I  pray  you,  speak  not ;  he  grows  worse  and  worse  ; 
Question  enrages  him  :  at  once,  good  night : 
Stand  not  upon  the  order  of  your  going, 
But  go  at  once. 

Lett,  Good  night;  and  better  health  120 

Attend  his  majesty ! 

113.  io'\  at  Han.  116.    m]    Ff,   +,  Cap.   Jen.  White, 

114.  When  noTv]  Nowwhen  Han.  Del.  Glo.  Cam.  Cla.     are  Mai.  et  cet. 

115.  cheek5'\  ^ry^^-^/t  Han.  Johns.  Cap.  sights']  signesY^^.  signs  Y^. 
White. 

which  I  kn<nu  I  possess,  and  make  me  fancy  myself  a  coward,  when  I  perceive  that 
I  am  terrified  by  a  sight  that  has  not  in  the  least  alarmed  you. 

Reed.  I  believe  it  only  means :  You  make  me  amazed. 

Clarendon.  Macbeth  is  not  addressing  his  wife  alone,  but  the  whole  company. 

113.  disposition]  Clarendon.  This  word  is  used  by  Sh.  not  only  in  its  modem 
sense  of  settled  character,  ^^,  but  also  in  the  sense  of  temporary  mood,  and  in  this 
hitter  sense  we  think  it  is  used  here.     Compare  Lear,  I,  iv,  241 ;  Ham.  I,  v,  172. 

owe]  Johnson  {^Obs,  &c.)  conjectured  know  (anticipating  Bailey),  but  he  did  not 
repeat  it  in  his  subsequent  edition.  The  next  line  Bailey  proposed  to  read :  *  When 
I  think  hcno  you  can,'  &c. 

Wedgewood.  To  possess,  to  have.  To  own  a  thing  is  to  claim  it  as  possessed  by 
oneself.  To  owe  money  is  an  elliptical  expression  for  having  it  to  pay  to  another, 
possessing  for  another.  *  The  plowman  sayde,  Gyve  me  my  moneye.  The  preeste 
sayde,  I  owe  none  to  thee  to  pay ;'  i.  e.  I  have  none  to  pay  thee,  or  I  owe  thee  none, 
— From  Wynkyn  de  Worde  in  Reliquia  Ant.  p.  46.  A  Yorkshireman  says,  Who 
owes  this  ?  who  is  the  f>ossessor  of  this,  to  whom  does  it  belong  ? 

116.  mine  is]  Jennens.  It  is  the  '  ruby*  of  the  *  cheeks,'  and  not  the  cheek,  that 
« is  blanch'd.' 

Malone.  The  alteration  now  made  \are  for  *  is '  of  the  Ff]  is  only  that  which 
every  editor  has  been  obliged  to  make  in  every  page  of  these  plays.  Perhaps  it 
may  be  said  that  *  mine '  refers  to  *  ruby^  and  that  therefore  no  change  is  necessary. 
But  this  seems  very  harsh. 

White.  We  should  read  *  cheek'  here,  because  Sh.  when  he  makes  the  cheek  a 
sign,  or  exponent,  or  type,  uses  the  word  in  the  singular  number.  The  s  was  added 
in  this  instance  by  the  carelessness  in  that  respect  so  often  elsewhere  noted. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  Assuredly  '  mine*  does  not  refer  to  *  ruby.*  The  plural  '  cheeks*  is 
obviously  right ;  for  Macbeth  is  speaking,  not  of  the  face  of  an  individual,  but  of  the 
faces  of  the  guests  in  general. 

Delius,  and  Clarendon.  That  is,  the  ruby  of  my  cheeks. 

119.  Stand]  Dalgleish.  Compare  the  first  line  of  this  scene.  Their  waiting  to 
retire,  as  court  etiquette  required,  in  the  order  of  their  rank,  would  waste  time. 


ACT  m.  sc.  iv.]  MA  CBETH.  1 8 3 

Lady  M,  A  kind  good  night  to  all  1  I2I 

\Exeunt  all  except  Macbeth  and  Lady  M, 

Macb.     It  will  have  blood ;  they  say  blood  will  have  blood : 
Stones  have  been  known  to  move  and  trees  to  speak ; 
Augurs  and  understood  relations  have 

121.  A  kind'\  om.  Pope,  +.  Cap.  Mai.  G>11.  Sta.  White,  Del.     blood, 
[Exeunt,..]  Dyce.     Exit  Lords.         — They  say,  ^ohns. 

F,.     Exeunt  Lords.  F^F^F^,  +.  124.     Augurs]  Theob.     Augures  Ff, 

122.  Rowe.  Two  lines,  ending  j<iy,  Rowe,  Pope,  Sing.  Cam.  Cla.  Auguries 
blood,  Ff.  Steev.  conj.  Rann. 

blood  ;  they  say\\^2\\^y ,    blood,  and  understood]  thcU  understood 

they  say  Pope,  Han.  blood  they  say  :  Ff,  Rowe,  + ,  Cap.  Jen.  that  understand 
Rowe.     blood,  they  say ;  Theob.  Warb.         Warb.  Johns. 

122.  they  say]  Johnson  {^Obs.,  &c.)  Macbeth  justly  infers  that  the  death  of 
Duncan  cannot  go  unpunished,  *  It  will  have  blood !'  then  after  a  short  pause  de* 
clares  it  as  the  general  observation  of  mankind,  that  murderers  cannot  escape. 

Capell  {^Notes,  19  a).  How  is  this  line  injur'd  in  the  solemnity  of  it's  movement 
by  the  second  and  fourth  modems  [i.  e..  Pope  and  Hanmer;  Capell  uniformly  design 
nated  his  six  predecessors  as  < modems'  and  numbered  them  chronologically.  Ed.], 
who  have  no  stop  at  *  say !'  the  proverb's  naked  repeating  coming  after  words  that 
insinuate  it,  has  great  effect. 

123.  Stones]  Clarendon.  Probably  Sh.  here  alludes  to  some  story  in  which  the 
stones  covering  the  corpse  of  a  murdered  man  were  said  to  have  moved  of  them- 
selves and  so  revealed  the  secret. 

Paton  {N.  and  Qu,,  6  Nov.  1869).  Such  a  superstition  as  that  referred  to  in  the 
Clarendon  edition  would  only  reveal  the  murdered  man,  not  the  secret  murderer. 
May  not  the  allusion  be  to  the  rocking  stones,  or  *  stones  of  judgment,'  by  which  it 
was  thought  the  Druids  tested  the  guilt  or  innocence  of  accused  persons  ?  At  a 
slight  touch  of  the  innocent,  such  a  stone  moved,  but  *  the  secret  man  of  blood ' 
found  that  his  best  strength  could  not  stir  it.  If  Sh.  visited  Macbeth's  country  to 
naturalise  his  materials  (as  I  believe  he  did),  he  could  not  avoid  having  his  atten* 
tion  drawn  to  several  of  these  *  clacha  breath.'     One  was  close  to  Glamis  castle. 

trees]  Steevens.  Alluding  perhaps  to  the  tree  which  revealed  the  murder  of 
Polydorus,  Virgil,  ^neid,  iii,  22,  599. 

124.  Augurs]  Steevens.   Perhaps  we  should  read  auguries,  i.e.,  prognostica-  , 
tions  by  means  of  omens. 

Singer  (ed.  i).  That  is,  auguries,  formerly  spelt  augures,  as  appears  by  Florio  in 

voce  augurio.     I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the  passage  should  be  printed,  * and 

trees  to  speak  Augures;'  &c.  [This  conjecture  is  withdrawn  in  Singer's  ed.  2. 
Ed.] 

Clarendon.  In  Florio,  161 1,  'augure'  is  given  as  the  equivalent  both  for  augu- 
rio, soothsaying,  and  auguro,  a  soothsayer.  In  the  ed.  of  1598  'augure*  is  only 
given  as  the  translation  of  augurio,  and  it  is  in  this  sense  that  it  is  used  here.  The 
word  occurs  nowhere  else  in  Sh.  For  *  augur,'  in  our  modem  sense,  he  uses  « au- 
gurer.*  We  find  *  augure '  used  in  the  sense  of  *  augur,'  or  *  augurer,'  in  Holland's 
Pliny,  Bk  viii,  c.  28,  which  was  published  in  1601. 

and]   Delius.   Sh.  frequently  connects  words  by  the  copula,  *and,'  which  arc 


1 84  MA  tBETH.  [act  hi,  sc.  iv. 

By  magot-pies  and  choughs  and  rooks  brought  forth  125 

The  secret'st  man  of  blood. — What  is  the  night  ? 

Lady  M,     Almost  at  odds  with  morning,  which  is  which. 

Macb,     How  say'st  thou,  that  Macduff  denies  his  person 
At  our  great  bidding  ? 

125.     magot'pies  and'\  mag'pus,  and  125.    choughs]  coughs  Vfzxh.  ]ohtkS, 

by  Pope,  + ,  Cap.  H.  Rowe. 

subordinate,  not  co-ordinate,  as  in  the  present  instance  where  the  meaning  is, '  the 
relations  understood  by  augurs.* 

124.  relations]  Johnson.  By  this  word  is  understood  the  connection  of  effects  with 
causes ;  to  understand  relations  as  an  augur,  b  to  know  how  those  things  relate  to 
each  other,  which  have  no  visible  combination  or  dependence. 

Heath.  By  relations  it  is  not  improbable  that  Sh.  might  understand  those  hidden 
ties  by  which  every  part  of  nature  is  linked  and  connected  with  every  other  part  of 
it,  in  virtue  whereof  the  whole  of  created  nature,  past,  present,  and  to  come,  is  truly 
and  properly  one.  If  this  be  his  meaning,  as  I  believe  it  is,  his  own  natural  good 
understanding  had  opened  to  him  a  vein  of  philosophy  which  has  since  done  so 
much  honour  to  the  name  of  Mr  Leibnitz.     ^ 

125.  magot-pies]  Nares.  The  bird  now  called,  by  abbreviation,  a  mag-pie. 
Most  probably  from  the  French,  magot,  a  monkey,  because  the  bird  chatters  and 
plays  droll  tricks  like  a  monkey.  Minsheu  and  Cotgrave  both  have  maggatapie  in 
several  places ;  it  is  possible,  therefore,  that  it  was  called  maggoty  pie,  from  its 
whimsical  drollery  in  chattering,  &c.,  quasi,  comical  pie,  or  fantastic  pie. 

choughs]   Dyce  (Gloss.)  * possibly  Sh.  meant  Jackdaws,  for  in  the  Mid. 

N.  D.  he  speaks  of  russet-pated  (grey-headed)  Choughs,  which  term  is  applicable  to 
the  Jackdaw,  but  not  to  the  real  Chough.* — J/ist.  of  Brit.  Birds ^  vol.  ii,  p.  58, 
sec.  ed. 

Clarendon.  Cotgrave  gives  *  a  Cornish  chough ;  or,  the  red  billd  Rooke '  as  a 
translation  of  the  French  grole.     It  is  known  by  naturalists  as  Pyrrhocorax. 

126.  secret'st]  Steevens.  Such  a  story  may  be  found  in  Thomas  Lupton's 
Thousand  Notable  Things,  &c.,  no  date,  p.  1 00,  and  in  Goulart's  Admirable  Histo- 
ries, p.  425,  1607, 

What]  Abbott  (J  253).  Note  here  the  use  of  *what*  for  *  in  what  state,'  i.e., 
*  how  far  advanced.' 

127.  at  odds]  Delius.  Night  presses  so  closely  upon  morning  that  they  contend 
with  each  other  which  is  which. 

128.  How  say'st  thou]  M.  Mason  (CommentSy  &c.,  p.  146).  It  appears  from 
LAdy  M.'s  answer  that  she  had  not  told  Macbeth  that  Macduff  refused  to  come  to 
him,  and  it  appears  from  III,  vi,  39  that  Macbeth  had  summoned  him,  and  that  he 
refused  to  come.  I  think,  therefore,  that  what  Macbeth  means  to  say  is  this :  '  What 
do  you  think  of  this  circumstance,  that  Macduff  denies  to  come  to  our  great  bid- 
ding ? — ^What  do  you  infer  from  thence  ? — What  is  your  opinion  of  that  matter  ?' 

128-132.  Elwin.  This  portion  of  the  dialogue  implies  that  a  general  invitation 
to  the  nobles  has  been  issued  by  Macbeth,  which  Macduff  has  privately  professed 
himself  unwilling  to  obey.  The  expression,  *  I  hear  it  by  the  way,'  that  is,  inci- 
dentally, Macbeth  himself  explains  in  the  succeeding  line,  as  signifying,  ^ I  hear  it  by 
the  indirect  means  of  fe^d  household  spies.* 


ACT  m,  sc.  iv.] 


MACBETH. 


185 


Lady  M,  Did  you  send  to  him,  sir  ? 

Macb.     I  hear  it  by  the  way,  but  I  will  send : 
There's  not  a  one  of  them  but  in  his  house 
I  keep  a  servant  fee'd.     I  will  to-morrow. 
And  betimes  I  will,  to  the  weird  sisters : 
More  shall  they  speak,  for  now  I  am  bent  to  know, 
By  the  worst  means,  the  worst.     For  mine  own  good 
All  causes  shall  give  way :  I  am  in  blood 
Stepp'd  in  so  far  that,  should  I  wade  no  more, 


130 


135 


129.  sir?"]  om.  Coll.  ii,  conj. 

130.  hMr\  heard  Ktly. 

131.  Therms  not  a  oni\  There  is  not 
one  Pope. 

a  one"]  a  Thane  Theob.  +,  Cap. 
a  man  White,  Huds.  ii. 

132.  /keep]  rUkeep  Coll.  (MS). 

132,  133.  The  lines  end  fee  d... will ^ 
...sisters.  Walker. 

133.  And  betimes.... to^  Betimes.... 
unto  Pope,  + ,  Cap.  Steev.  And  betimes 
....unto  Rann.  Ay,  and  betimes. ...to 
Anon.* 


133.  /  will ]  will  I  Lettsom,  Ktly. 
weird']  Theob.   weyard  F,,  Ktly. 

wizard  Fa^3^4»  Rowe.  weyward  Pope, 
Warb.  Johns. 

134.  /  aw]  Pm  Pope,  +,  Dyce  ii, 
Huds.  ii. 

135.  worst.      For..... .good"]    Johns. 

worst,  for. .  .good,  Ff.  worst,  for. .  .good; 
Rowe,  Pope,  Han.  worst,  for.. .good. 
Theob.  Warb. 

137.     Stepfd]  Slept  F,,  Pope.   Spent 
F.FjF^,  Rowe. 


129.  sir]  Maginn  (p.  181).  This  word  is  an  emphatic  proof  that  she  is  wholly 
subjugated.  Too  well  is  she  aware  of  the  caiLse,  and  the  consequence,  of  Macbeth*s 
sending  after  Macduff;  but  she  ventures  not  to  hint.  She  is  no  longer  the  stem- 
tongued  lady  urging  on  the  work  of  death,  and  taunting  her  husband  for  his  hesita- 
tion. She  now  addresses  him  in  the  humbled  tone  of  an  inferior ;  we  now  see  fright 
and  astonishment  seated  on  her  face. 

131.  a  one]  Theobald  (Sh.  /Restored,  p.  186).  Macbeth  would  subjoin  that  there 
is  not  a  Man  of  Macduff's  Quality  in  the  Kingdom,  but  he  has  a  Spy  under  his 
Roof.     Correct,  as  it  certainly  ought  to  be  restored :  *  not  a  Thane  of  them.* 

White.  *  A  one  *  is  an  expression  of  which  only  Sh.*s  own  hand  and  seal  could 
convince  me  that  he  was  guilty,  especially  when,  if  he  had  wished  to  use  the  gen- 
eral noun,  the  most  natural  expression  would  have  been,  •  There  is  not  one  of  them.* 
Theobald's  change  is  violent ;  for  the  slighter  one  [*  a  man ']  I  am  responsible. 

Walker  [Crit.  ii,  91).  One,  in  Sh.'s  time,  was  commonly  pronounced  un  (a  pro- 
ntfnciation  not  yet  obsolete  among  the  common  folk),  and  sometimes  apparently  (as 
in  Two  Gent.,  II,  i,  3),  on.  ,  .  .  Note  too  that  our  old  poets  ordinarily,  so  far  as  I 
have  observed,  write  an  one,  not  a  one.  .  .  .  Macbeth,  IV,  iii,  66,  Folio,  p.  146, 
col.  2 :  *  Than  such  an  one  to  reigne.'  [Yet  in  the  very  same  column  we  have,  *  If 
such  a  one  be  fit,*  &c. — Leitsom.] 

Clarendon.  We  still  say  *  never  a  one,*  *  many  a  one,*  *  not  a  single  one.' 

Abbott  (J  81).  In  this  instance  and  in  Cyxnb.,  I,  i,  24,  *  a*  seems  used  for  *any,' 
i.  e.,  ane-y,  or  one-y. 

[See  Ellis,  Early  English  Pronunciation,  &c..  Part  iii,  pp.  898,  959.  Ed.] 

136,  137.    in  .  ,  .  in]    For  instances  of  the  repetition  of  the  preposition  see 
Walker  (Cr/V.  ii,  82)  and  Abbott  (J  407). 
16* 


1 86  MACBETH.  [act  hi,  sc.  iv. 

Returning  were  as  tedious  as  go  o'er : 

Strange  things  I  have  in  head  that  will  to  hand, 

Which  must  be  acted  ere  they  may  be  scann'd.  140 

Lady  M.     You  lack  the  season  of  all  natures,  sleep. 

Macb,     Come,  we'll  to  sleep.     My  strange  and  self-abuse 
Is  the  initiate  fear  that  wants  hard  use : 
We  are  yet  but  young  in  deed.  [Exeunt. 

138.    go]  going  Hon.  144.     Wf  « r^]  (fVr^  Pope,  + ,  Huds. 

141.  natures']     Natures  Theob.   i.         ii. 

naturt  H.  Rowe.  in  deecf]    Theob.     indeed   Ff, 

142.  to]  too  Warb.  Rowe,  Pope,    in  deeds  Han. 

137.  Steevens.  This  idea  is  borrowed  by  Dryden,  in  his  CEdipus,  IV,  i : 

'  — —  I  have  already  pass'd 
rive  middle  of  the  stream ;  and  to  return 
Seems  greater  labour  than  to  venture  o'er/ 

Clarendon.  Compare  Mid.  N.  D.,  Ill,  ii,  47-49. 

138.  as  go  o'er]  Abbott  ({  384).  The  Elizabethans  seem  to  have  especially 
disliked  the  repetition  which  is  now  considered  necessary,  in  the  latter  of  two 
clauses  connected  by  a  relative  or  conjunction.  Thus  *  His  ascent  is  not  so  easy  as 
(the  ascent  of)  those  who,'  &c. — Cor.,  II,  ii,  30.  Here  in  Macbeth,  *as  tedious  as 
(to)  go  o'er.* 

132,  133,  139.  will]  Abbott  ({  405).  •  I  iw//,'  i.  e., « I  purpose,*  when  followed 
by  a  preposition  of  motion,  might  naturally  be  supposed  to  mean,  <I  purpose 
motion.' 

140.  scann'd]  Steevens.  Examine  nicely.    Thus  also.  Ham.  Ill,  iii,  75. 

141.  season]  Johnson.  You  want  sleep  which  seasons^  or  gives  the  relish  to,  ail 
nature. 

Whiter  (p.  147).  It  is  that  which /r«^rr«  nature,  and  keeps  \i  fresh  and  lasting. 
Malone.  An  anonymous  correspondent  thinks  the  meaning  is :  '  You  stand  in 
need  of  the  time  or  season  of  sleep,  which  all  natures  require.* 

142.  and]  Delius.  The  use  of  the  copula  is  justified  by  the  fact  that  Sh.  con- 
sidered 'self*  as  an  adjective,  and  did  not  consider  *  self-abuse'  (which  is  the  appa- 
rition that  appeared  to  Macbeth)  as  one  word. 

abuse]  Dyce  (Gloss.)  Deception. 

Clarendon.  Sh.  also  employs  the  word  in  the  sense  of  *  ill-usage,*  and  in  that 
of  'reviling.* 

143.  initiate]  Steevens.  The  fear  that  always  attends  the  first  initiation  into 
guilt,  before  the  mind  has  grown  callous. 

hard]  Capell.  That  is,  *  use  that  makes  hardy.* 


ACTiii,  SC.V.1  MACBETH,  1 8/ 

Scene  V.    A  fieath. 

Thunder,     Enter  the  three  Witches,  nueting  Hex:ate. 

First  Witch,     Why,  how  now,  Hecate  I  you  look  angerly. 

Scene  v.]  Scene  iv.  Rowc.    Scene        ii,  om.  Ff.    The  Heath.  Rowe  et  cct, 
VI.  Pope,  +  .  Hecate.]  F^F^.     Hecat.  F,F,. 

A  heath.]  Glo.  Cam.  Cla.  Dyce  i.     Hecate']  Hecaf  Pope,  +. 

Scene  V.]  Clarendon.  [See  Appendix,  p.  392.] 

I.  Hecate]  Steevens.  Sh.  has  been  censured  for  introducing  Hecate,  and,  con- 
sequently, for  confounding  ancient  with  modem  supyerstitions.  He  has,  however, 
authority  for  giving  a  mistress  to  the  witches.  Delrio,  Disquis.  Mag,  Lib.  H,  queest. 
9,  quotes  a  passage  of  Apuleius,  Lib.  de  Asino  aureo  :  *  De  quadam  Cauf>ona,  regina 
Saganmi.'  And  adds  further :  <  Ut  scias  etiam  turn  quasdam  ab  iis  hoc  titulo  hono- 
ratas.'  Sh.  is  therefore  blameable  only  for  calling  his  presiding  character  Hecate,  as 
it  might  have  been  brought  on  with  propriety  under  any  other  title  whatever. 

Warton.  The  Gothic  and  Pagan  fictions  were  frequently  blended  and  incor- 
porated. The  Lady  of  the  Lake  floated  in  the  suite  of  Neptune  before  Queen  Eliza- 
beth at  Kenilworth ;  Ariel  assumes  the  semblance  of  a  sea-nymph,  and  Hecate,  by 
an  easy  association,  conducts  the  rites  of  the  weird  sisters  in  Macbeth. 

ToLLET.  Scot's  Discovery  of  Witchcraft^  bk.  iii,  c.  ii,  and  c.  xvi,  and  bk.  xii,  c. 
iii,  mentions  it  as  the  common  opinion  of  all  writers,  that  witches  were  supposed  to 
have  nightly  *  meetings  with  Herodias,  and  the  Pagan  gods,'  and  *  that  in  the  night- 
times they  ride  abroad  with  Diana,  the  goddess  of  the  Pagans,'  &c. — Tlieir  dame  or 
chief  leader  seems  always  to  have  been  an  old  Pagan,  as  *  the  Ladie  Sibylla,  Minerva, 
or  Diana. ^ 

Todd.  In  Jonson's  Sad  Shepherd,  II,  iii.  Maudlin,  the  witch,  calls  Hecate  the 
mistress  of  witches,  *  our  Dame  Hecate ;'  which  has  escaped  the  notice  of  Steevens 
and  Toilet. 

Douce  {///ust.  &c.  i,  382-394)  gives  a  long  note  on  this  passage,  but  as  it  is  chiefly 
'  an  investigation  of  the  fairy  superstitions  of  the  Middle  Ages,  so  far  as  they  are  con- 
nected with  the  religion  of  the  ancient  Romans,'  it  seems  scarcely  germane  as  an  il- 
lustration of  Sh.  £d. 

White.  Sh.  has  been  censured  for  mixing  Hecate  up  with  vulgar  Scotch  witches, 
smelling  of  snuff  and  usquebaugh.  But  he  sinned  in  this  regard  with  many  better 
scholars  than  himself;  and,  had  he  not  such  companionship,  his  shoulders  could 
bear  the  blame,  as  they  also  could  that  of  pronouncing  her  name  as  a  dissyllable. 

Clarendon.  Tasso,  Ger,  Lid.  c.  xiii,  sts.  6, 10,  makes  the  wizard  Ismeno  invoke  the 
*  citizens  of  Avemus  and  Pluto.*  In  that  poem  the  Fury  Alecto  is  as  busy  as  Tisiphone 
in  the  yEneid,  As  far  back  as  the  fourth  century,  the  Council  of  Ancyra  is  said  to  have 
condemned  the  pretensions  of  witches,  that  in  the  night-time  they  rode  abroad,  or 
feasted  with  their  mistress,  who  was  one  of  the  Pagan  goddesses,  Minerva,  Sibylla, 
or  Diana,  or  else  Herodias.  (Scot's  Discovery  of  Witchcraft  [cited  above  by  ToL- 
LET.  Ed,],  bk.  iii,  c.  xvi.)  The  canons  which  contain  this  condemnation  are  of 
doubtful  authenticity.  They  are  printed  in  Labbe's  Conciliorum  CoUectio,  tom.  i, 
col.  1798,  ed.  Paris,  1 71 5.  But  witches  were  believed  in  by  the  vulgar  in  the  time 
of  Horace  as  implicitly  as  in  the  time  of  Sh.     And  the  belief  that  the  Pagan  gods 


1 88  •    MACBETH.  [act  III,  sc.  V. 

Hec,     Have  I  not  reason,  beldams  as  you  are, 
Saucy  and  over-bold  ?     How  did  you  dare 
To  trade  and  traffic  with  Macbeth 

In  riddles  and  affairs  of  death ;  5 

And  I,  the  mistress  of  your  charms, 
The  close  contriver  of  all  harms, 
Was  never  call'd  to  bear  my  part, 
Or  show  the  glory  of  our  art? 

And,  which  is  worse,  all  you  have  done  lO 

Hath  been  but  for  a  wayward  son, 
Spiteful  and  wrathful ;  who,  as  others  do. 
Loves  for  his  own  ends,  not  for  you. 
But  make  amends  now :  get  you  gone. 
And  at  the  pit  of  Acheron  1 5 

2.     reason^  beldams']  Knt,  Coll.  Dyce,  ».,over-boidt  Ff,  Pope,  Han.  Jen.   are  /*... 

Sta.  Hal.  White,  Glo.  Cam.  Cla.  Huds.  ii.  over-bold  I  Theob.  + . 

reason  (Beldams)  ¥i.     reason.  Beldams,  Ii.     wayward "]     weyward    Pope,+ 

Rowe  et  cet.  ( — Han.),  Cap.  Mai. 

2,3.    are over-bold f]  Cap.     are? 

m 

were  really  existent  as  evil  demons  is  one  which  has  come  down  from  the  very 
earliest  ages  of  Christianity.  The  only  passage  of  Sh.  in  which  *  Hecate '  is  a  tri- 
syllable is  in  I  Hen.  VI :  III,  ii,  64. 

I.  angerly]  Abbott  ({  447).  The  -ly  represents  Mike,*  of  which  it  is  a  corrup- 
tion.    So  also  *  manly  *  in  IV,  iii,  235. 

7.  close]  Delius.  This  word  signifies  that  it  is  in  appearance  merely  that  all 
these  •  harms '  proceed  from  the  witches ;  in  reality  they  come  from  their  secrel  con- 
triver, Hecate. 

12.  Spiteful.. .do]  Steevens.  Inequality  of  metre,  together  with  the  unnecessary 
and  weak  comparison :  *  as  others  do,'  incline  me  to  think  that  this  line  ran  thus : 
*  A  spiteful  and  a  wrathful,  who  *. 

13.  Loves]  Halliwell.  The  accuracy  of  this  reading  has  not  been  suspected, 
but  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  it  is  an  error  for  lives. 

See  Clarendon  in  Appendix,  p.  392.  Ed. 

Staunton  ( TAe  A/Aemrum,  2  November,  1872).  I  conjecture  ob  metrunty  as  well 
as  for  the  sense,  the  true  lection  is  *  Loves  evil  for,*  &c.  Halliwell's  change  is  neat 
and  ingenious,  but  does  not  the  prosody  of  the  companion  line  admonish  us  that  a 
foot  is  wanting  in  this  ? 

15.  Acheron]  Steevens.  Sh.  seems  to  have  thought  it  allowable  to  bestow  this 
name  on  any  fountain,  lake,  or  pit,  through  which  there  was  vulgarly  supposed  to  be 
a  communication  between  this  and  the  infernal  world.  The  true  original  Acheron 
was  a  river  in  Greece ;  and  yet  Virgil  gives  this  name  to  his  lake  in  the  valley  of 
Amsanctus  in  Italy. 

Malone.  Sh.  was  led  by  Scripture  (as  Mr  Plumtre  observed  to  me)  to  make  his 

witches  assemble  at  Acheron.     See  2  Kings  i,  2-7 :  * Is  it  not  because  there  is 

not  a  God  in  Isrttel,  that  thou  sendest  to  Inquire  of  Baal-zebub  the  god  of  Ekron  f 


ACT  ni,  sc.  v.]  MA  CBE TH,  1 89 

Meet  me  i*  the  morning :  thither  he 

Will  come  to  know  his  destiny : 

Your  vessels  and  your  spells  provide, 

Your  charms  and  every  thing  beside. 

I  am  for  the  air ;  this  night  I'll  spend  20 

Unto  a  dismal  and  a  fatal  end : 

Great  business  must  be  wrought  ere  noon : 

Upon  the  corner  of  the  moon 

There  hangs  a  vaporous  drop  profound  ; 

I'll  catch  it  ere  it  come  to  ground :  25 

20.  M^]  Cap.  M' Ff,-r,  Jen.  White,  yi?//?/ Pope, +  ,  Cap.  dismal-fatal Sit^s , 
Dyce  ii,  Huds.  ii.  21.     moon]  Afoone.  F^. 

21.  dismal  and   a  fatal]    dismal^ 

Dyce  (Fno  Notes,  &c.,  p.  127).  Did  these  matter-offact  commentators  [Malone 
and  '  a  Mr  Plumtre ']  suppose  that  Sh.  himself,  had  they  been  able  to  call  him  up 
from  the  dead,  could  have  told  them  *  all  about  it  ?*  Not  he ; — no  more  than  Fair- 
fax, who,  in  his  translation  of  the  Gerusalemme  (published  before  Macbeth  was  pro- 
duced), has  made  Ismeno  frequent  *  the  shores  of  Acheron^  without  any  warrant 

from  Tasso : 

*  //if,  from  deepe  cau4s  by  Aekerons  darke  shores 
(Where  circles  vaine  and  spels  he  vs'd  to  make), 
T'  aduise  his  king  in  these  extremes  is  come;'  &c. — B.  ii,  St.  3. 

(The  original  has  merely, — 

Ed  or  dalle  spclonche,  ove  lontano 
Dal  vulgo  esercitar  suol  I'arti  ignote, 
Vicn,'  &c.) 

Clarke.  The  witches  are  poetically  made  to  give  this  name  to  some  foul  tarn  or 
gloomy  pool  in  the  neighbourhood  of  Macbeth's  castle,  where  they  habitually  as- 
semble. 

23.  moon]  Steevens.  Sh.'s  mythological  knowledge,  on  this  occasion,  appears 
to  have  deserted  him ;  for  as  Hecate  is  only  one  of  three  names  belonging  to  the 
same  goddess,  she  could  not  properly  be  employed  in  one  character  to  catch  a  drop 
that  fell  from  her  in  another.  In  Mid.  N.  D.,  V,  i,  391,  however,  he  was  sufficiently 
aware  of  her  three-fold  capacity. 

24.  profound]  Johnson.  That  is,  a  drop  that  has  profound,  deep,  or  hidden 
qualities. 

Steevens.  This  vaporous  drop  seems  to  have  been  meant  for  the  same  as  the 
vims  lunare  of  the  ancients,  being  a  foam  which  the  moon  was  supposed  to  shed  on 
particular  herbs,  or  other  objects,  when  strongly  solicited  by  enchantment.     Lucan 

introduces  Erictho  using  it :  * et  virus  large  lunare  ministrat.' — Pharsalia,  Bk 

vi,  666. 

Clarendon.  Deep,  and  therefore  ready  to  fall.  .  .  .  Whatever  be  the  meaning, 
the  word  rhymes  to  *  ground,'  which  is  the  main  reason  for  its  introduction  here. 
Milton  is  fond  of  using  two  epithets,  one  preceding,  the  other  following,  the  noun ; 
as  *  the  lowest  pit  profound,'  Translation  of  Psalm  viii. 


1 90  MA  CBET/f.  [act  111,  sc.  vi. 

And  that  distill'd  by  magic  sleights 

Shall  raise  such  artificial  sprites 

As  by  the  strength  of  their  illusion 

Shall  draw  him  on  to  his  confusion  : 

He  shall  spurn  fate,  scorn  death,  and  bear  30 

His  hopes  'bove  wisdom,  grace,  and  fear : 

And  you  all  know  security 

Is  mortals*  chiefest  enemy. 

[_Music  and  a  song  within  :  '  Come  away,  come  away,*  &c. 
Hark !  I  am  call'd ;  my  little  spirit,  see, 

Sits  in  a  foggy  cloud,  and  stays  for  me.  \Exit,     35 

First  Witch,     Come,  let's  make  haste;   she'll  soon  be  back 

again.  \Exeunt, 


Scene  VI.     Forres,     The  palace. 

Enter  Lennox  and  another  Lord. 

Len,     My  former  speeches  have  but  hit  your  thoughts, 

26.  sleights]  Coll.  Dyce,  White,  Glo.        away,  &c.  Ff,  +,  Jen.  Rann. 
Cam.  Cla.  Huds.  ii.    slights  Ff,  ct  cct.  35.     [Exit.]  Cap.     om.  Ff,  +. 

27.  raise"]  rise  Y^.  36.     bach   again.]    Pope.      Separate 
33.     mortals']  Theob.  ii.    mortals  Ff,        line,  Ff. 

Theob.   i.     mortal's  Rowe,  +,   Sing.  Scene  vi.]  Scene  v.  Rowe.     Scene 

Knt,  Ktly.  vii.  Pope,  +. 

[Mus!c...a«'ary,'  &c.]  Dyce  from  Forres.     The  palace.]  Glo.     A 

Cap.     Musicke,  and  a  Song.  Ff,  +.  Chamber.  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.     Foris. 

35.  a]  the  Rowe  ii,  +.  A  Room  in  the  Palace.  Cap. 
[Sing  within.    Come  away,  come  i.     Rowe.     Two  lines,  Ff. 

26.  sleights]  Dycz  {Gloss.)  Artifices.  *  A  sleight,  Z?<?/«j,  astutia.' — Coles's  Z^/. 
and  Eng,  Diet. 

31.  *bove]  Abbott  (J  460).  Instances  of  dropped  prefixes. 

32.  security]  Clarendon.  Carelessness.  Webster,  Duchess  of  Malfi^  V,  ii,  has 
the  following  strong  metaphor :  *  Security  some  men  call  the  suburbs  of  hell.  Only  a 
dead  wall  between.* 

33.  song]   [See  Appendix,  pp.  337,  401.  Ed.] 

34.  caird]  Clarendon.  From  this  it  is  probable  that  Hecate  took  no  part  in  the 
song,  which  perhaps  consisted  only  of  the  first  two  lines  of  the  passage  from 
Middleton. 

36.  back  again]  Elwin.  These  words  arc  usually  made  to  terminate  the  line ; 
but  *  be '  is  the  concluding  word  of  the  line  in  F^,  and  is  intended  to  rhyme  with 
*  see  *  and  *  me '  in  the  two  preceding  lines,  the  witches  addressing  each  other  in  a 
kind  of  chant. 

another  Lord]  Johnson.  It  is  not  easy  to  assign  a  reason  why  a  nameless  cha- 
i|ict^r  should  be  introduced  here,  since  nothing  is  said  that  might  not  with  equal 


•    fc 


ACT  III,  sc.  vi.]  MA  CBETH.  1 9 1 

Which  can  interpret  farther :  only  I  say 

Things  have  been  strangely  borne.     The  gracious  Duncan 

Was  pitied  of  Macbeth : — marry,  he  was  dead : — 

And  the  right-valiant  Banquo  walk'd  too  late ;  5 

Whom,  you  may  say,  ift  please  you,  Fleance  killed, 

For  Fleance  fled :  men  must  not  walk  too  late. 

Who  cannot  want  the  thought,  how  monstrous 

2.  farther]  further  Johns.  Steev.  8.  Who  cannot  want]  You  cannot 
Var.  Sing,  i,  Huds.  Dyce.  want  Han.    Who  can  want  or  Who  can- 

3.  borne]  born  F  ,  Dav.  Pope,  Han.  not  have  Jen.  conj.  Who  care  not,  want 
Cap.  Jen.  Jackson.    Who  can  now  Cartwright. 

4.  he  was]  he  is  Lettsom.  monstrous]  monstrous  too  Pope, 

5.  right-vaiiant]  hyphen,  Theob.  +.     monsterous  Cap.  Rann,  Ktly. 

6.  if^t]  if  it  Cap.  Steev.  Var. 

propriety  have  been  put  into  the  mouth  of  any  other  disaffected  man.  I  believe, 
therefore,  that  in  the  original  copy  it  was  written  with  a  very  common  form  of  con- 
traction, *  Lenox  and  An.*  for  which  the  transcriber,  instead  of  *Lenox  and  Angus,* 
set  down,  *  Lenox  and  another  Lord,* 

Dyce.  Here,  in  my  copy  of  the  Folio,  •  another  Lord '  is  altered,  in  old  hand- 
writing, to  *Jioss*  and  perhaps  rightly. 

2.  only]  See  HI,  iv,  98.  Ed. 

3.  borne]  Clarendon.  Carried  on,  conducted.  So  in  line  17  and  in  Much 
Ado,  II,  iii,  229. 

8.  Who  cannot]  Malone.  The  sense  requires  *  Who  can.*  Yet  I  believe  the 
text  is  not  corrupt.     Sh.  is  sometimes  incorrect  in  these  minutiae. 

Elwin.  To  want  is  here  used  to  signify  needful,  compulsory  desire.  The  sen- 
tence expresses.  Who  cannot  desire,  as  a  strong  necesuty  of  his  nature,  to  think  such 
a  crime  monstrous. 

White  (5^.  Scholar,  &c.  p.  403).  It  is  to  Banquo  that  Lennox,  in  his  ironical 
vein,  applies  the  second  time,  as  well  as  the  first,  the  phrase  •  walk'd  too  late.'  Mac- 
beth seized  the  opportunity  of  Banquo's  late  walking  to  put  him  out  of  the  way, 
chiefly  because  Banquo  more  than  suspected  who  was  the  real  perpetrator  of  the 
crime,  which  Lennox,  ironically  conforming  to  general  report,  ascribes  to  Malcolm 
and  Donalbain.  This  suspicion  was  obviously  the  reason  for  the  murder  of  ]3anquo 
by  the  order  of  Macbeth.    May  we  not  remove  the  point  after  the  last  *  late '  [line  7] 

and  read  thus,  making  the  passage  declarative  instead  of  interrogative  ?  * men 

must  not  walk  too  late  Who  cannot  want  the,'  &c.  That  is, — *  men,  who  will  think 
that  the  alleged  murder  of  Duncan  by  his  sons  is  a  crime  too  monstrous  for  belief, 
must  be  careful  not  to  walk  too  late.'  ['  Good '  is  Lettsom's  MS  marginal  excla- 
mation opposite  this  note  in  the  present  editor's  copy  of  the  volume.  Ed.] 

Dyce.  My  kind  friend,  Mr  Grant  White,  must  allow  me  to  say  that  I  think  his 
change  of  the  punctuation  in  this  passage  quite  wrong,  and  his  explanation  over-subtle : 
surely,  Macbeth's  chief  reason  for  getting  rid  of  Banquo  was, — not  *  because  Banquo 
more  than  suspected  who  was  the  real  perpetrator  of  the  crime,'  but, — because  the 
Witches  had  declared  that  Banquo  was  to  be  *  father  to  a  line  of  kings :'  hence  Mac- 
beth's injunction  to  the  Murderers;  III,  i,  135.  [Compare  Holinshed  in  Appendix, 

P-  365-] 


192  MACBETH.  [act  hi.  sc.  vi. 

It  was  for  Malcolm  and  for  Donalbain  9 

Collier  (ed.  2).  Who  cannot  but  think. 

White.  A  careful  consideration  of  this  passage,  and  a  recollection  of  the  mis- 
takes that  I  have  made  myself  and  known  others  to  make,  have  led  me  unwillingly 
to  the  belief  that  Malone  may  have  been  right  in  his  opinion  that,  although  the  sense 
requires,  *  Who  can  want  the  thought,*  the  text  is  as  Sh.  wrote  it,  and  that  the  disagree- 
ment between  the  words  and  the  thought  is  due  to  a  confusion  of  thought  which  Sh. 
may  have  sometimes  shared  with  inferior  intellects. 

Keightley.  This  passage  as  it  stands  is  evident  nonsense,  which  Sh.  never  wrote; 
and  if  we  read  We  for  *  Who,*  we  have  the  very  word  he  wrote,  and  most  excellent 
sense. 

Delius.  As  Sh.  sometimes,  in  order  to  express  a  simple  negative,  multiplies  the 
negatives  «<?/,  nor^  never ^  &c.,  so  on  the  other  hand  he  sometimes  adds  them,  as  in 
this  case,  to  negative  verbs  or  particles,  without  altering  the  sense.  Thus  in  Wint. 
Tale,  III,  ii,  55, — *  That  any  of  these  bolder  vices  wanted  Less  impudence,*  and  in 
Cymb.,  I,  iv,  23,  *  a  beggar  without  less  quality,'  the  negative  *  less*  merely  strength- 
ens the  negative  already  included  in  'wanted,*  and  'without.* 

Dalgleish.  The  affirmative  interrogation  is  equal  to  the  negative  response,  *  no 
one  can  want,*  &c.     See  I,  v,  30. 

Clarendon.  This  construction  arises  from  a  confusion  of  thought  common  enough 
when  a  negative  is  expressed  or  implied,  and  is  so  frequent  in  Greek  as  to  be  almost 
sanctioned  by  usage.  Compare  e.  g.  Herodotus,  iv.  118:  tikzl  y&p  6  llipar^c  ovSev  ri 
uaTiXav  kn*  7}fiiac  ^  ov  koI  errl  vfieng^  and  Thucydides,  iii,  36,  w//dv  rd  pohXevfia  ir6?uv 
bXtpf  6ia^elpai  fAoXXov  ^  ov  rovg  ahiovg.  It  would  be  easy  to  find  instances  in  all 
English  writers  of  Sh.'s  time.  Take  the  following  from  his  own  works.  Winter's 
Tale,  I,  ii,  260;  King  Lear,  II,  iv,  140:  *  I  have  hope  You  less  know  how  to  value 
her  desert  Than  she  to  scant  her  duty.* 

Edinburgh  Review  {July^  1869).  The  passage  as  it  stands  is  perfectly  good 
sense,  and  perfectly  good  English  of  Sh.'s  day,  as  it  still  remains  perfectly  good 
Northern  English  or  Lowland  Scotch  of  our  own  day.  In  these  dialects  the  verb 
•want,'  especially  when  construed  with  negative  particles,  has  precisely  the  meaning 
which  the  critics  insist  the  sense  requires.  If  a  fanner  in  the  North  of  England,  or 
the  Scotch  Lowlands,  send  to  borrow  a  neighbor's  horse,  and  receives  a  negative  re- 
ply, it  would  probably  be  conveyed  in  some  such  form  as,  *  He  says  he  cannot  want 
the  horse  to-day,*  i.  e.  he  cannot  do  without  the  horse;  he  must  have  the  horse  for 
his  own  use.  In  the  same  way,  if  an  Edinburgh  porter  say  to  his  comrade,  *  I'll  no 
want  a  gill  of  whiskey  the  mom,'  he  would  express  in  a  strong  form  his  determina- 
tion to  have  one.  This  use  of  the  verb  was  not  uncommon  amongst  English  writers 
in  Sh.'s  day.  Thus,  in  The  Country  Farm,  translated  from  the  French,  1600,  we 
have,  *  Ploughing  an  art  that  a  householder  cannot  want.^     And  Markham,  speaking 

of  the  herb  purs/ane,  says,  *  a  ground  once  possessed  by  them  will  seldom  want 

them.'  Many  words  and  phrases,  now  peculiar  to  the  Scotch  Lowlands,  were  com- 
mon to  both  countries  in  Sh.'s  day,  and  every  one  of  the  so-called  Scotticisms  to  be 
found  in  his  dramas  is  used  by  contemporary  English  writers.  As  a  mere  English 
writer,  therefore,  Sh.  was  entitled  to  use  this  verb  in  what  is  now  its  Northern  sig- 
nification, and  he  appears  to  have  done  so  elsewhere.  It  might,  however,  then  as 
now,  be  characteristic  of  the  North,  where  alone  it  has  survived,  and  would  thus 
naturally  find  a  place  in  *  Macbeth,'  which  contains  other  Scotticisms,  such  as  /oon 
for  example. 


ACT  III.  sc.  vi.]  MA  CBETH.  1 93 

To  kill  their  gracious  father  ?  damned  fact !  10 

How  it  did  grieve  Macbeth !  did  he  not  straight, 

In  pious  rage,  the  two  delinquents  tear, 

That  were  the  slaves  of  drink  and  thralls  of  sleep  ? 

Was  not  that  nobly  done  ?     Ay,  and  wisely  too ; 

For  'twould  have  anger'd  any  heart  alive  15 

To  hear  the  men  deny't.     So  that,  I  say, 

He  has  borne  all  things  well :  and  I  do  think 

That,  had  he  Duncan's  sons  under  his  key — 

As,  an't  please  heaven,  he  shall  not — they  should  find 

II.     it  did  grieve  Macbeth !'\    Cap.  Sing.  Knt,  Ktly. 
it  did  greeve  Macbeth?  Yi,  did  it  grieve  1 7.     borne'\  Ff.    bom    Rowe,  Pope, 

Macbeth?  Pope,  +.  Han.  Cap.  Jen. 

14.     not  that\  that  not  F^F^,  Pope.  18.     his  key]  the  key  F.F^F^. 

and]  om.  Pope, +.  19.     an't]  Theob.  ii.  and'tYL 

16.     denyt]  deny  U  Cap.  Steev.  Var.  should]  shall  F^F^F^. 

8.  monstrous]  Sec  Walker  {Vers,  p.  11.)  for  instances  where  this  word  not 
only  must  be  pronounced  as  a  trisyllable,  but  is  even  spelled  monsterouSf  and  mon- 
struous.     See  also  ABBOTT,  J  477. 

10.  fact]  Delius.  Sh.  continually  uses  this  word  in  a  bad  sense,  as  of  an  evil 
deed ;  nowhere  does  he  use  it  in  the  sense  of  reality  as  opposed  to  fiction. 

Dyce  {Gloss,)  A  deed,  a  doing,— -an  evil  doing. 

11.  12.  Da  VIES  (ii,  108).  Lennox  was  present  when  Macbeth  killed  the  sleeping 
grooms,  and,  however  better  instructed  he  seems  to  be  at  present,  he  then  justified 
the  act. 

12.  tear]  Clarendon.  Comparing  Macbeth  to  a  beast  of  prey.  But  the  com- 
panson  is  anything  but  apt.  We  suspect  that  this  passage  did  not  come  from  the 
hand  of  Sh. 

19.  As. ..not]  Delius.  This  parenthesis  is  to  be  heard  only  by  the  audience,  not 
by  Lennox's  companion. 

19.  an't]  Clarendon.  The  spelling  *  an '  is  used  to  avoid  ambiguity,  and  is  more 
consistent  with  the  etymology  of  the  word.  It  is  derived  from  the  Ang-Sax.  unnan, 
to  grant,  to  concede,  just  as  *  if,*  i.  e.  *  gif,'  is  said  to  be  derived  from  gifan^  to  give. 

Abbott  {\\  loi,  102,  103).  The  plausible  but  false  derivation  of  this  particle 
from  unnan  was  originated  by  Home  Tooke.  But  the  word  is  often  written  and  in 
Early  English  (Stratmann),  as  well  as  in  Elizabethan  authors.  The  true  explana- 
tion  of  *  and  *  with  the  subjunctive  appears  to  be  that  the  hypothesis,  the  if^  is  ex- 
pressed, not  by  the  and^  but  by  the  subjunctive,  and  that  and  merely  means  vtith  the 
addition  of,  plus,  just  as  but  means  leaving  out,  or  minus.  The  hypothesis  is  ex- 
pressed by  the  simple  subjunctive  thus,  in  III,  i,  25  :  *Go  not  my  horse  the  better,* 
&c.  This  sentence  with  and  would  become,  *  I  must  become  a  borrower  of  the 
night  and  my  horse  go  not  the  better,*  i.  e.  *  with,  or  on,  the  supposition  that  my 
horse  go  not  better.*  Similarly  in  the  contrary  sense,  *  but  my  horse  go  the  better,* 
would  mean  *  without  or  excepting  the  supposition  that  my  horse,*  &c.  Latterly  the 
subjunctive,  falling  nto  disuse,  was  felt  to  be  too  weak  unaided  to  express  the  by- 
17  N 


1 94  MACBETH.  [ACT  iii.  sc.  vi. 

What  'twere  to  kill  a  father ;  so  should  Fleance.  20 

But,  peace !  for  from  broad  words,  and  'cause  he  fail'd 
His  presence  at  the  tyrant's  feast,  I  hear, 
Macduff  lives  in  disgrace. — Sir,  can  you  tell 
Where  he  bestows  himself? 

Lord,  The  son  of  Duncan, 

From  whom  this  tyrant  holds  the  due  of  birth,  25 

Lives  in  the  English  court,  and  is  received 
Of  the  most  pious  Edward  with  such  grace 
That  the  malevolence  of  fortune  nothing 
Takes  from  his  high  respect.     Thither  Macduff 
Is  gone  to  pray  the  holy  king,  upon  his  aid  30 

To  wake  Northumberland  and  warlike  Siward : 
That  by  the  help  of  these,  with  Him  above 
To  ratify  the  work,  we  may  again 

21.     ^cause\  Pope,  cause  Ff.  line. 

24,  40.     Lord.]  Ang.  H.  Rowe.  30.  holy\  om.  Pope,  + . 

24.    ion\    Theob.      Sonnes  F,F,Fg.  upon\  on   Cap.   Steev.    (1793), 

Sons  F^,  Pope.  Ktly.  om.  Anon.* 

26.  Lives']  Live  F.FjF^,  Pope.  upon  his"]  in  Anon.*    on^s  Lett- 
ij]  are  Rowe,  Pope.  som. 

29,  30.     Steev.   (1773.   1778,   I785)»  S^-     Siward]  Theob.  ii.     Seyward 

Mai.   Rann   read   Takes., .^one  as  one        Ff. 

pothesis ;  and  the  same  tendency  which  introduced  *  more  better,*  *  most  unkindest,* 
&c.,  superseded  and  by  and  ify  an  if,  and  if.  There  is  nothing  remarkable  in  the 
change  of  and  into  an,  Andy  even  in  its  ordinary  sense,  is  often  written  an  in 
Early  English,  (See  Halliwell.)  And  or  an  is  generally  found  before  a  personal 
pronoun,  or  *  if,*  or  *  though.' 

19.  should]  Abbott  {\  322).  Should  is  the  past  tense  of  shally  and  under^vent 
the  same  modifications  of  meaning  as  shall.  Hence  should  is  not  now  used  with 
the  second  person  to  denote  mere  futurity,  since  it  suggests  a  notion,  if  not  of  com- 
pulsion, at  least  of  bounden  duty.  But  in  a  conditional  phrase,  *  If  you  should  re- 
fuse,' there  can  be  no  suspicion  of  compulsion.  We  therefore  retain  this  use  of 
should  in  the  conditional  clause,  but  use  would  in  the  consequent  clause:  *If  you 
should  refuse,  you  would  do  wrong.*  On  the  other  hand,  Sh.  used  should  in  both 
clauses,  in  Mer.  of  Yen.,  I,  ii,  100.  And  should  is  frequently  thus  used  to  denote 
contingent  futurity. 

21.  from]  Clarendon.  Owing  to,  in  consequence. 

22.  tyrant]  Clarendon.  Here  used  not  in  our  modem  sense,  but  in  that  of 
'usurper,*  as  is  shown  by  3  Hen.  VI :  III,  iii,  69-72.  So  in  IV,  iii,  67,  'a  tyranny ' 
means  *  usurpation,*  as  interpreted  by  what  follows. 

27.  Of]  Abbott  (J  170).  Of  meaning  'from,'  is  placed  before  an  agent  {from 
whom  the  action  is  regarded  as  proceeding)  where  we  use  *by,'  e.  g.  *  Received  cf 
(welcomed  by)  the  most,*  &c. 


ACT  III,  sc.  vi.]  MA  CBETH,  T  95 

Give  to  our  tables  meat,  sleep  to  our  nights, 

Free  from  our  feasts  and  banquets  bloody  knives,  35 

Do  faithful  homage  and  receive  free  honours : 

All  which  we  pine  for  now :  and  this  report 

Hath  so  exasperate  the  king  that  he 

Prepares  for  some  attempt  of  war. 

Len,  Sent  he  to  Macduff? 

Lord,     He  did :  and  with  an  absolute  *  Sir,  not  I,'  40 

35.     Free\  Keep  Lettsom,  Bailey.  38.     the  king]  Han.     their  king  Ff, 

38.     exasperate]  exasperated 'RowtWt  +,  Mai.  Dei.     our  kiftg  Anon.* 

Johns.  Jen.    exasperated  Vo^t-^rt  Steev.  39.     of  war]  om.  Pope,  Han.  Cap. 

('773)'     exasperate' AWtTi.  40.     Sir,  not  /]  Sirf-not'/Ctip, 

35.  M ALONE.  The  construction  is — Free  our  feasts  and  banquets  from  bloody 
knives.  Perhaps  the  words  are  transposed,  and  the  line  originally  stood :  Our  feasts 
and  banquets  free  from  bloody  knives.  [Rann  and  Hudson  (ed.  2)  adopted  this 
reading.  Ed.] 

Steevens.  Possibly  the  compositor*s  eye  caught  the  word  free  from  the  line  im- 
mediately following.  We  might  read,  /right,  or  /'ray,  but  any  change,  perhaps,  is 
needless. 

Clarendon.  This  seems  a  strange  phrase.     A  somewhat  similar  use  of  the  verb 

•  to  free '  occurs  in  the  Epilogue  to  the  Tempest,  line  18. 

knives]  Harry  Rowe.  This  seems  to  allude  to  the  savage  custom  anciently 
observed  in  the  Highlands  of  Scotland  of  sticking  their  Dirks  into  the  table  when- 
ever they  sat  down  to  eat  with  a  mixed  company. 

Delius.  He  is  thinking  of  the  Murderer  who  appeared  at  Macbeth's  banquet  to 
report  Banquo's  assassination. 

36.  free  honours]  Johnson.  Free  may  be  either  honours  freely  bestowed,  not 
purchased  by  crimes ;  or  honours  without  slavery,  without  dread  of  a  tyrant. 

Singer.  In  Twelfth  Night,  H,  iv,  46,  *  free '  means  pure,  chaste,  consequently 
unspotted,  which  it  may  mean  here. 

38.  exasperate]  Clarendon.  Verbs  derived  from  Latin  participial  forms  do  not 
necessarily  have  a  *  d '  final  in  the  participle  passive,  a  license  dictated  by  euphony 
to  avoid  the  recurrence  of  dental  sounds.  This  license  is  most  common  in  verbs 
derived  from  the  pass.  part,  of  Latin  verbs  of  the  first  conjugation,  but  it  is  not  con- 
fined exclusively  to  them. 

[For  many  instances  of  forms  of  past  tenses  and  participles,  from  verbs  ending  m 
/,  and  also  (though  less  numerous)  in  d,  where  the  present  remained  unaltered,  see 
Walker  {Crit.  ii,  pp.  324-343)  and  Abbott  (§J  341,  342).  See  also  Allen,  Rom. 
and  Jul.,  p.  429  (Var.  ed.)  Ed.] 

the]  Malone.   Their  of  the  Ff  refers  to  the  son  of  Duncan,  and  Macdutt. 

Anonymous.  And  is  necessary,  to  distinguish  Macbeth,  Marking,  from  *  the  pious 
Edward,'  the  king  of  England. 

40.  I,]  Dyce  (Remarks,  &c.,  p.  199).  The  semicolon  placed  after  *  Sir,  not  I,' 
[as  in  Collier's  edition]  destroys  the  meaning  of  the  passage.     The  construction  is, 

*  and  the  cloudy  messenger  turns  me  his  back  with  an  absolute  "  Sir,  not  I  *'  [received 
in  answer  from  Macduff],  and  hums,  as  who  should  say,'  &c. 


196  MACBETH.  [act  hi,  sc.  vi 

The  cloudy  messenger  turns  me  his  back, 

And  hums,  as  who  should  say  *  You'll  rue  the  time 

That  clogs  me  with  this  answer.* 

Len,  And  that  well  might 

Advise  him  to  a  caution,  to  hold  what  distance 
His  wisdom  can  provide.     Some  holy  angel  45 

Fly  to  the  court  of  England  and  unfold 
His  message  ere  he  come,  that  a  swift  blessing 
May  soon  return  to  this  our  suffering  country 
Under  a  hand  accursed ! 

Lord,  I'll  send  my  prayers  with  him.     \Exeunt, 

44.     to  a  caution y  to"]  to  a  caution,  /*  49.      Ufu/er']  Lying  under  Cap.  conj. 

Ff,  Jen.  White,     to  a  care  to  Pope,  +.  Lord]  Ang.  H.  Rowe. 

caution  and  to  Steey,  conj.  /'//  send.^.Aim.']    My  prayers 

48.     suffering  country"]  country,  suf'  with  him  I  Steev. 
fering  Cap.  conj. 

41.  cloudy]  Delius.  Foreboding,  ominous. 

me]  Dalgleish.  Here  analogous  to  the  Greek,  Latin,  and  German  dative  used 
to  indicate  the  person  indirectly  afifected.  Originally  it  was  used  of  the  person  to 
whose  advantage  or  disadvantage  anything  redounded;  but  it  came  to  be  applied 
to  one  only  remotely  connected  with  a  transaction,  as  on-looker  or  listener.  The 
*  me  *  was  used  in  this  sense  indiscriminately  for  all  persons,  first,  second,  and  third. 

Clarendon.  It  is  here  a  kind  of  enclitic  adding  vivacity  to  the  description.  [See 
Abbott  (§  220).  Ed.] 

42.  as  who]  Abbott  (J  257).  Who  is  used  {or  any  one.  Compare  Mer.  of  Ven., 
I,  ii,  45,  and  I,  i,  93 ;  Rich.  II :  V,  iv,  8.  In  these  passages  it  is  possible  to  under- 
stand an  antecedent  to  '  who,'  *  as,  or  like  (one)  who  should  say.*  But  in  [a 
passage  from  North's  Plutarch  and  one  from  Gower]  it  is  impossible  to  give  this 
explanation.     Possibly  an  if  is  implied  after  the  as  by  the  use  of  the  subjunctive, 

48.  suffering]  See  Walker  (O/V.  i,  160)  for  instances  of  this  peculiar  construc- 
tion with  the  adjective.     See  also  Rom.  and  Jul.,  Ill,  i,  58. 

Abbott  (g  419  ^r).  When  an  adjective  is  not  a  mere  epithet,  but  expresses  some- 
thing essential,  and  implies  a  relative,  it  is  often  placed  after  a  noun.  When,  how- 
ever, connected  with  the  adjective,  e.g.^  'whiter,'  there  is  some  adverbial  phrase, 
e.g.,  *  than  snow,'  it  was  felt  that  to  place  the  adjective  after  the  noun  might  some- 
times destroy  the  connection  between  the  noun  and  the  adjective,  since  the  adjective 
was,  as  it  were,  drawn  forward  to  the  modifying  adverb.  Hence  the  Elizabethans 
sometimes  preferred  to  place  the  adjectival  part  of  the  adjective  before,  and  the 
adverbial  part  after,  the  noun.  The  noun  generally  being  unemphalic,  caused  but 
slight  separation  between  the  two  parts  of  the  adjectival  phrase.  Thus  *  whiter 
than  snow  '  being  an  adjectival  phrase,  *  whiter '  is  inserted  before,  and  *  than  snow  ' 
after,  the  noun: — *  Nor  scar  that  [whiter]  skin-of-hers  [than  snow],'  0th.,  V,  ii,  4. 
So  also  in  this  play,  V,  viii,  7. 

49.  hand  accurst]  Tschischwitz  (p.  17).  Ea  vero  adiectiva  lubenter  adhibet 
|>ost  substantiva,  quae  ab  origine  participia  sunt,  neque  interest  germana,  latina,  an 
francogallica  fuerint. 


Kcr  IV.  sc.  i.l  MA  CBETH.  1 9 7 


ACT   IV. 

Scene  I.    A  cavern.     In  the  middle,  a  boiling  cauldron. 

Thunder,    Enter  the  three  Witches. 

First  Witch,     Thrice  the  brinded  cat  had  mew'd. 

Sec,  Witch,     Thrice  and  once  the  hedge- pig  whined.  2 

Act    IV.]    Actus    Quartus.    F,.  Cam.   Dyce  ii,  Cla.     Thrice^  ami  Ff, 

Actus  Quintus  F^F^F^.  Pope,    Cap.      TwUe,  and  Theob.   +. 

A... cauldron.]    Glo.   from   Cap.  Thrice;  and  Steev.  et  cet. 

A   dark   Cave,   in  the  middle  a  great  2.     hedge-pig]  Dav.  Hedge- PiggeY^, 

Cauldron  burning.  Rowc,  +  .  Hedges  Pigge  F,.     Hedges  Pig  FjF^» 

2.     Thrice  and]  Jen.  Sta.  Del.  Glo.  Rowe  i. 

49.  I'll  .  .  .  him]  Walker  ( Vers.  273).  Single  lines  of  four  or  five,  or  six  or 
seven,  syllables,  interspersed  amidst  the  ordinary  blank  verse  of  ten,  are  not  to  be 
considered  as  irregularities ;  they  belong  to  Sh.*s  system  of  metre.  On  the  other 
hand,  lines  of  eight  or  nine  syllables,  as  they  are  at  variance  with  the  general 
rhythm  of  his  poetry  (at  least,  if  my  ears  do  not  deceive  me,  this  is  the  case),  so 
they  scarcely  ever  occur  in  his  plays, — it  were  hardly  too  much  to  say,  not  at  all.  .  .  . 
With  regard  to  the  other,  or  legitimate  short  lines,  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  some- 
times, though  very  rarely,  two  lines  of  this  sort  occur  consecutively  in  Sh.,  for  there 
are  passages  which  cannot  be  otherwise  arranged  without  destroying  the  harmony, 

as  seems  to  me.    So  arrange 

*  Under  a  yoke  [sic]  accurst  I 

Lord.  I'll  send  my  prayers  with  him.' 
A  conclusion  of  a  scene  quite  in  Sh.'s  manner. 

1.  brinded]  Wedgewood.  Streaked,  or  coloured  in  stripes.  Old  Norse,  ^r5«^ip//r, 
s.s. ;  brand- krossottr,  cross-barred  in  colour,  from  brandr,  a  stick,  post,  bar. 

Clarendon.  The  more  usual  form  of  this  word  is  *  brindled.*  Milton,  Par,  Lost^ 
vii,  466,  speaks  of  the  *  brinded  mane  *  of  the  lion,  and  in  Cotnus,-  443,  of  the 
*  brinded  lioness,'  evidently  using  the  word  in  the  sense  of  tawny. 

cat]  Warburton.  A  cat,  from  time  immemorial,  has  been  the  agent  and  favourite 
of  witches.  This  superstitious  fancy  originated  perhaps  thus :  When  Galinthia  was 
changed  into  a  cat  by  the  Fates  (says  Antonius  Liberalis,  Metam,  cap.  xxix),  by 
Witches  (says  Pausanias  in  his  Baotics),  Hecate  took  pity  of  her,  and  made  her  her 
priestess.  Hecate,  herself  too,  when  Typhon  forced  all  the  gods  and  goddesses  to 
hide  themselves  in  animals,  assumed  the  shape  of  a  cat. 

Johnson.  A  witch,  who  was  tried  about  half  a  century  before  the  time  of  Sh.,had 
^cat  named  Rutterkin,  as  the  spirit  of  one  of  these  witches  was  Grimalkin. 

Douce.  We  know  that  the  Egyptians  typified  the  moon  by  this  animal.  Some  of 
the  ancients  have  supposed  that  the  cat  became  fat  or  lean  with  the  increase  or  wane 
of  the  moon ;  that  it  usually  brought  forth  as  many  young  as  there  are  days  in  a  lu- 
nar period ;  and  that  the  pupils  of  its  eyes  dilated  or  contracted  according  to  the 
changes  of  the  planet. 

2.  once]  Theobald.  I  read  twice  and  once;  because,  as  Virgil  has  remark'd, 
Numero  Deus  impare  gaudet ;  and  three  and  nine  are  the  numbers  us'd  in  all  In- 
'^hantments. 

I7» 


198  MACBETH.  [ACT  iv.  sc.  i 

Third  Witch,     Harpier  cries, — Tis  time,  'tis  time. 
First  Witch,     Round  about  the  cauldron  go : 
In  the  poison'd  entrails  throw.  5 

3.     Harpier]     Ff,    Rowe,    Jen.    H.  Cla.  rr/Wz—Vw  Steev.  (1778)  et  eel. 
Rowe,  Knt,  Dyce  i,  Sta.  White,  Del.  5.    entrails']  entremes  Warb.  conj. 

Ktly,  Glo.  Cam.  Cla.    Hark^  her  Jack-  throw,]  Rowe.     throw  Ff. 

son.    Harpy  Steev.  conj.  Dyce  ii,  Huds.  [They   march  round  the   Caul- 

ii.     Harper  Pope  et  cet.  dron,  and  throw  in  the  several  Ingre- 

cries^ — *  Tis]  Coll.  Huds.  i,  ^Vhite.  dients  as  for  the  Preparation   of  their 

cries  J  Uis  Yi,  +,  Cap.  Jen.  Ktly,  Glo.  Charm.  Rowe,  +. 
cries — Uis  Steev  (1773).  cries  * '  Tis  Cam. 

Steevens.  The  Second  Witch  only  repeats  the  number  which  the  First  had  men- 
tioned, in  order  to  confirm  what  she  had  said ;  and  then  adds,  that  the  hedge-pig  had 
likewise  cried,  though  but  once.  Or  what  seems  more  easy,  the  hedge-pig  had 
whined  thrice^  and  after  an  interval  had  whined  once  again. 

Elwin.  As  even  numbers  were  considered  inappropriate  to  magical  operations,  the 
Second  Witch  makes  the  fourth  cry  of  the  hedge-pig  an  odd  number^  by  her  method 
of  counting.     She  tells  three,  and  then  begins  a  new  reckoning. 

Clarendon.  The  witch's  way  of  saying  *  four  times.' 

2.  hedge-pig]  Warton.  The  urchin,  or  hedge-hog,  from  its  solitariness,  the  ugli- 
ness of  its  appearance,  and  from  a  popular  opinion  that  it  sucked  or  poisoned  the 
udders  of  cows,  was  adopted  into  the  demonologic  system,  and  its  shape  was  some- 
times supposed  to  be  assumed  by  mischievous  elves. 

Krauth  {'Notes  on  The  Tempest,  Minutes  of  the  Sh.  Soc.  of  Phila.,'  1866,  p.  33). 
The  urchin,  or  hedge-hog,  is  nocturnal  in  its  habits,  weird  in  its  movements ;  plants 
wither  where  it  works,  for  it  cuts  off  their  roots.  Fairies  of  one  class  were  supposed 
to  assume  its  form.  *  Urchin '  came  to  mean  *  fairy '  without  reference  to  the  hedge- 
hog-shape ;  hence,  because  fairies  are  little  and  mischievous,  it  came  to  be  applied 
to  a  child. 

3.  Harpier]  Harry  Rowe.  Probably  derived  from  'Harpya^  a  harpy.  The 
additional  i  brings  it  nearer  to  the  derivation. 

Steevens.  It  may,  however,  be  only  a  misspelling,  or  a  misprint,  for  harpy.  So 
in  Marlowe's  TamburlainCy  Sic,  1590 :  *And  like  a  harper  tyers  upon  my  life.' 
[Collier  (ed.  2).  In  the  8vo  ed.,  which  is  of  the  same  date,  it  stands  Harpy, 
Dyce's  Marlowe,  i,  51.] 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  It  is  doubtless  as  Steevens  suggested. 

Clarendon.  The  Hebrew  word  Habar,  *  incantare,'  mentioned  in  Scot's  Discov- 
ery of  Witchcraft,  xii,  I,  may  be  the  origin  of  the  word. 

Paton  (iV.  and  Qu,  6  Nov.  1 869).  The  long-clawed  crab  is  called  on  the  east  coast 
of  Scotland  the  *  Harper  crab.*  See  Sibbald's  Hist,  of  Fife  and  Kinross,  and  Jamie- 
son's  5r<?/.  Diet.  5.  V. 

GuiZOT.  C'est  probablement  quelque  animal  que  la  sorcidre  disigne  ainsi  en  raison 
de  la  ressemblance  de  son  cri  avec  le  son  d'une  corde  de  harpe. 

Jordan.  Hecate's  attendant  is  only  indicated  as  a  little  spirit  sitting  in  a  thick  fog, 
and  each  of  the  other  three  witches  have  attendants  in  the  shape  of  animals,  such  as 
a  cat,  an  urchin,  and  a  toad,  I  have  conjectured  therefore,  with  tolerable  certainty, 
that  Sh.  here  wrote :  herpler,  i.  e.  waddler  (  Watschier), 

3.  'Tis  time]  Steevens.  This  familiar  does  not  cry  out  that  it  is  time  for  them 


ACT  IV,  sc.  i.]  MA  CBETH.  1 99 

Toad,  that  under  cold  stone  6 

Days  and  nights  has  thirty  one 

6.     Toadf  ihaf\   Toadstool^  Bullock.*  der  coldi  Allen. 

under  cold]  under  the  cold  Rowe  7.     has]  ha's  F,F,.  has,  Pope,  + ,  Jen. 

ii,  + ,  Cap.  Mai.  Rann,  H.  Rowe,  Coll.  i,  hast,  Han.  hast  Cap.  Steev.  Var.  Sing,  i, 

White,  Dyce  ii,  Huds.  ii.    under  coldest  Knt,  Dyce,  Ktly,  Huds.  ii. 

Steev.  Var.   Sing.  i.     under  cold  cold  one]  Cap.     one.   Pope,  +,  Jen. 

Anon.*    under  some  cold  Anon.*    ««-  one :  Ff,  Rowe. 

to  begin  their  enchantments ;  but  cries^  i.  e.  gives  them  the  signal,  upon  which  the 
Third  Witch  communicates  the  notice  to  her  sisters.     [See  Appendix,  p.  389.   Ed.] 

5.  Clarendon.  The  imagination  ofthe  poets  contemporary  with  Sh.  ran  riot  in 
devising  loathsome  ingredients  for  witches*  messes.  Compare  Webster,  Duchess  of 
Malfi,  ii,  I,  p.  67,  ed.  Dyce :  *  One  would  suspect  it  for  a  shop  of  witchcraft,  to  find 
in  it  the  fat  of  serpents,  spawn  of  snakes,  Jews*  spittle,*  &c.  Lucan  perhaps  excels 
them  all.     See  the  Pharsalia,  Bk  vi,  667-681. 

GuizoT,  (translating  this  line  by :  *  Jetons  dans  ses  entrailles  empoisonnies,*  notes) 
Shakespeare  met  souvent  ainsi  dans  la  bouche  de  ses  sorcidres  des  phrases  inter- 
rompues,  auxquelles  elles  semblent  attacher  un  sens  complet. 

6.  under  cold]  Steevens.  The  slight  change  I  have  made  has  met  the  appro- 
bation of  Dr  Farmer,  or  it  would  not  have  appeared  in  the  text. 

Knight.  The  line  is  certainly  defective  in  rhythm,  for  a  pause  here  cannot  take 
the  place  of  a  syllable,  unless  we  pronounce  *  cold ' — co-old.  There  is  no  natural 
retardation. 

Collier.  Laying  only  due  and  expressive  emphasis  upon  *  cold,*  it  may  be  doubted 
whether  the  line  be  defective.  There  seems  no  reason  for  preferring  the  superlative 
degree  [of  Steevens],  and  it  is  more  likely  that  the  definite  article  [of  Pope]  dropped 
out  in  the  printing. 

Hudson  (ed.  i).  To  our  ear  the  extending  of  *  cold*  to  the  time  of  two  syllables 
feels  right  enough. 

Deli  us.  In  order  to  weaken  the  force  of  the  consecutive  consonants,  an  involun- 
tary pause  should  perhaps  odcur  between  *  cold  *  and  *  stone* ;  just  as  in  Mid.  N.  D., 
II,  i,  7,  *  Swifter  than  the  moon*s  sphere.* 

Staunton.  We  ought  probably  to  read,  with  Pope,  *  the  cold,*  or  *  a  cold  stone.* 

White.  The  line  in  the  Folio  is  so  detrimentally  defective  that  we  gladly,  though 
perhaps  unwarrantably,  accept  Pope's  emendation. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  The  article,  which  is  required  not  only  for  the  metre,  but  for  the 
sen:*;,  has  been  omitted  by  mistake.  Yet  the  mutilated  line  has  found  its  defenders 
and  admirers  (who,  we  may  be  sure,  if  the  Folio,  in  As  You  Like  It,  II,  v,  instead 
of  *  Under  the  greenwood  tree,'  &c.,  had  given  us  Under  greenwood  tree,  &c.,  would 
have  defended  and  admired  that  mutilated  line  also). 

Keightley.  I  read  *  MvAtxneath^  as  in  Jonson*s  line,  *  Underneath  this  stone 
doth  lie.* 

Clarendon.  Perhaps  the  line  is  right  as  it  stands,  the  two  syllables  <  cold  stone  * 
when  slowly  pronounced  being  equivalent  to  three,  as  Tempest,  IV,  i,  1 10 :  *  £arth*s 
increase,  foison  plenty.* 

Abbott  {\  484).  See  I,  ii,  5. 

7.  has]  Singer  (ed.  2).  The  speaker  is  not  addressing  the  toad,  but  is  giving  in- 
structions for  the  charm. 


2CX)  MACBETH.  [act  iv,  sc.  i. 

Swelter'd  venom  sleeping  got, 
Boil  thou  first  i'  the  charmed  pot. 

AIL     Double,  double  toil  and  trouble;  lo 

Fire  burn  and  cauldron  bubble. 

Sec.  Witch,     Fillet  of  a  fenny  snake, 
In  the  cauldron  boil  and  bake ; 
Eye  of  newt  and  toe  of  frog, 

Wool  of  bat  and  tongue  of  dog,  IS 

Adder's  fork  and  blind-worm  s  sting. 
Lizard's  leg  and  howlet's  wing, 
For  a  charm  of  powerful  trouble, 
Like  a  hell-broth  boil  and  bubble. 

AIL     Double,  double  toil  and  trouble ;  20 

Fire  burn  and  cauldron  bubble. 

Third  Witch,     Scale  of  dragon,  tooth  of  wolf, 

8.  venom  sleeping]  venoms  sleeping        Ktly. 

H.  Rowe,  Sing.  Del.  Ktly.  12.     Sec.  Witch.]   I  Witch.  Pope  il, 

9.  charmed]  charmed  Cap.  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.   Mai.   Rann,  H. 

10.  20,  35.     Double y  double]    Steev.         Rowe. 

Double^  double y  Ff,  + ,  Cap.  Knt,  Sing,  ii,  16.     blind-worm^ s]  blind-worm  Pope. 

8.  sweltered]  Steevens.  This  word  seems  to  signify  that  the  animal  was  moistened 
with  its  own  cold  exudations.  In  Boccace's  Novels ,  1620,  is:  *  —  an  huge  and 
mighty  load  even  weltering  (as  it  were)  in  a  hole  full  of  poison^ 

Clarendon.  This  word  is  generally  used  of  the  effect  of  heat.  Webster  defines 
it,  *  To  exude  like  sweat.' 

venom]  Hunter.  There  is  a  paper  by  Dr  Davy  in  the  Philosophical  Trans- 
actions of  1826,  in  which  it  is  shown  that  the  toad  f>  venomous,  and  moreover  that 
*  sweltered  venom '  is  peculiarly  proper,  the  poison  lying  diffused  over  the  body  im- 
mediately under  the  skin.  This  is  the  second  instance  in  this  play  of  Sh.'s  minute 
exactness  in  his  natural  history. 

10,  II.  Abbott  (J  504).  The  verse  with  four  accents  is  rarely  used  by  Sh.  except 
when  witches  or  other  extraordinary  beings  are  introduced  as  speaking.  Then  he 
often  uses  a  verse  of  four  accents  with  rhyme. 

For  the  various  translations  of  these  lines  into  German,  see  Appendix,  p.  455.  Ed. 

16.  blind-worm]  Steevens.  The  slow-worm,  SoDrayion,  JVbah's  Flood: 'The 
small-eyed  slow-worm  held  of  many  blind.* 

Clarendon.  In  Timon,  IV,  iii,  182,  the  'eyeless  venom'd  worm.* 

17.  howlet]  Clarendon.  In  Holland's  Pliny,  Bk  x,  ch.  xvii,  is  *  Of  Owles,  or 
Howlets*;  and  Cotgrave  gives  *Hulotte;  f.  A  Madgehowlet,'  and  *Huette;  f.  An 
Howlet,  or  the  little  Home-Owle.' 

22.  Hudson.  Ben  Jonson,  whose  mind  dwelt  more  in  the  circumstantial,  and  who 
spun  his  poetry  much  more  out  of  the  local  and  particular,  made,  in  his  *  Mask  of 
Queens,*  a  grand  showing  from  the  same  source  [as  that  from  which  Sh.  drew  the 


ACT  IV,  sc.  L]  MACBETH.  20I 

Witches'  mummy,  maw  and  gulf  23 

Of  the  ravin'd  salt-sea  shark, 

23.  WUches^'\  Theob.  ii.   Witches  Ff.         ravin  Mason  conj.  Rann. 

Witches  Sing,  i,  Huds.  Ktly.  24.     soli-sea  shark"]  Cap.     salt  Sea 

24.  ravin* d]  ravening  Pope,  + ,  Jen.        sharke  Ff.    salt  sea-shark  Pope,  + . 

present  materials,  viz.,  the  popular  belief  of  the  times].  But  his  powers  did  not 
permit,  nor  did  his  purpose  require,  him  to  select  and  dispose  his  materials  so  as  to 
cause  anything  like  such  an  impression  of  terror.  Sh.  so  weaves  his  incantations  as 
to  cast  a  spell  upon  the  mind,  and  force  its  acquiescence  in  what  he  represents ;  ex- 
plode as  we  may  the  witchcraft  he  describes,  there  is  no  exploding  the  witchcraft  of 
his  description ;  the  effect  springing  not  so  much  from  what  he  borrows  as  from  his 
own  ordering  thereof. 

23.  mummy]  Nares.  Egyptian  mummy,  or  what  passed  for  it,  was  formerly  a 
regular  part  of  the  Materia  Medica.  The  Dean  of  Westminster  [William  Vincent], 
in  his  Commerce  <5r*r.  of  the  Ancients ^  says  that  it  was  medical,  *  not  on  account  of 
the  cadaverous,  but  the  aromatic,  substance.' 

Dyce  {^Note  on  *  Your  followers  Have  swallow'd  you  like  mummia.* — The  White 
Devil,  I,  i.  Webster,  Works ,  vol.  i,  p.  lo).  The  most  satisfactory  account  of  the 
different  kinds  of  mummy  formerly  used  in  medicine  is  to  be  found  in  a  quotation 
from  Hill's  Materia  Medica  in  Johnson's  Diet.,  s.  v.  *  The  Egyptian  mummies,*  says 
Sir  Thomas  Browne,  *  which  Cambyses  or  time  hath  spared,  avarice  now  consumeth. 
Mummie  is  become  merchandise,  Mizraim  cures  wounds,  and  Pharaoh  is  sold  for 
balsams.* — Urn-Burial,  p.  28,  ed.  1 658. 

Clarendon.  Sir  Thomas  Browne,  in  his  Fragment  on  Mummies,  tells  us  that 
Francis  the  First  always  carried  mimimy  with  him  as  a  panacea  against  all  disorders. 
Some  used  it  for  epilepsy,  some  for  gout,  some  used  it  as  a  styptic.  He  goes  on : 
*  The  common  opinion  of  the  virtues  of  mummy  bred  great  consumption  thereof, 
and  princes  and  great  men  contended  for  this  strange  panacea,  wherein  the  Jews 
dealt  largely,  manufacturing  mummies  from  dead  carcases  and  giving  them  the 
names  of  kings,  while  specifics  were  compounded  from  crosses  and  gibbet- leavings.' 

gulf]  Clarendon.  Gulf,  in  the  sense  of  arm  of  the  sea,  is  derived  from  the 
French  golfe,  Italian  golfo,  and  connected  with  the  Greek  /cdAn-of :  but  in  the  sense 
of  whirlpool  or  swallowing  eddy,  it  is  connected  with  the  Dutch  gulpett,  our  *  gulp,' 
to  swallow,  and  with  the  old  Dutch  golpe,  a  whirlpool.  So  Wedgwood.  « Gulf,' 
with  the  latter  derivation,  is  applied  also  to  the  stomach  of  voracious  animals. 

24.  ravin'd]  Steevens.  That  is,  glutted  with  prey.     Ravin  is  the  ancient  word 

for  prey  obtained  by  violence.     So,  in  Drayton's  Folyolbion,  Song  7 :  * but  a  den 

for  beasts  of  ravin  made.'     See  Meas.  for  Meas.,  I,  ii,  123. 

Monk  Mason.  It  does  not  follow  that  because  ravin  may  signify  prey,  tavined 
should  signify  glutted  with  prey,  I  believe  we  ought  to  read  ravin.  As  in  All's 
Well,  III,  ii,  120.     R avined  czxiTioi  in^zxi  glutted  with  prey,  but  the  reverse. 

Steevens.   However,  in  Phineas  Fletcher's  Locusts,  1627  [Canto  iii,  st.  18. — 

Clarendon]  raven' d  occurs  as  in  the  present  text :  * But  with  his  raven'd  prey 

his  bowel  Is  broke.' 

M  ALONE.  To  ravin,  according  to  Minsheu,  is  to  devour,  or  eat  greedily,  Ravin* d 
is  used  for  ravenous,  the  passive  participle  for  the  adjective. 

Singer.  Horman's  Vulgaria,  1519 :  '  Thou  art  a  ravenar  of  delycatis.' 


202  MACBETH.  [act  iv,  sc.  i. 

Root  of  hemlock  digg'd  i'  the  dark,  25 

Liver  of  blaspheming  Jew, 

Gall  of  goat  and  slips  of  yew 

Sliver'd  in  the  moon's  eclipse, 

Nose  of  Turk  and  Tartar's  lips, 

Finger  of  birth-strangled  babe  30 

D itch-deli ver'd  by  a  drab, 

Make  the  gruel  thick  and  slab : 

Add  thereto  a  tiger's  chaudron, 

28.     Sliver^ d'\  Silver  d  Dav.  Rowe  33.     chaudron]  Cap.     chawdron  Ff. 

li,  Hal.  chauldron  Sing,  ii,  Ktly. 

ZZ*     tiger's'l  ttgars  F,. 

27.  yew]  Douce.  This  tree  was  reckoned  poisonous.  See  Batman  Uppon  Bar- 
tholomew 1.  xvii,  c.  161. 

28.  Sliver'd]  Steevens.  A  common  word  in  the  North,  meaning  to  cut  a  piece, 
or  a  slice.     See  Lear,  IV,  ii,  34. 

Dyce  {Gloss,)  To  cleave,  to  split,  to  cut  off,  to  slice  off,  to  tear  off  (*To  Slive, 
Sliver,  Findo.^ — Coles's  Lai,  and  Eng,  Diet.) 

28.  eclipse]  Clarendon.  A  most  unlucky  time  for  lawful  enterprises,  and  there- 
fore suitable  for  evil  designs.  Compare  Milton,  Par,  Lost^  i,  597  :  *  As  when  the 
sun  •  •  •  from  behind  the  moon  In  dim  eclipse  disastrous  twilight  sheds.'  And  in 
LyeidaSj  he  says  of  the  unlucky  ship  that  was  wrecked,  line  loi,  <  It  was  that  fatal 
and  perfidious  barque  Built  in  the  eclipse.' 

30.  Finger]  Johnson.  It  is  observable  that  Sh.,  on  this  great  occasion,  which 
involves  the  fate  of  a  king,  multiplies  all  the  circumstances  of  horror.  The  babe, 
whose  finger  is  used,  must  be  strangled  in  its  birth ;  the  grease  must  not  only  be 
himian,  but  must  have  dropped  from  a  gibbet,  the  gibbet  of  a  murderer ;  and  even 
the  sow,  whose  blood  is  used,  must  have  offended  nature  by  devouring  her  own  far- 
row.    These  are  touches  of  judgement  and  genius. 

32.  slab]  Clarendon.  Thick,  slimy.  The  same  word  is  found  as  a  substantive, 
meaning  mud  or  slime.  There  is  also  *  slabber,'  a  verb,  to  soil.  Another  form  of 
the  adjective  is  *  slabby.'  We  find  no  other  example  of  the  adj.  *  slab.'  Etymologi- 
cally  it  is  doubtless  related  to  'slobbery.'     See  Hen.  V:  III,  v,  13. 

^^.  chaudron]  Steevens.  That  is,  entrails,  a  word  formerly  in  common  use  in 
the  books  of  cookery,  in  one  of  which,  printed  in  1597,  I  meet  with  a  receipt  to 
make  a  pudding  of  a  calf's  chaldron.     Again,  in  Decker's  Honest  Whore ^  1635: 

*  Sixpence  a  meal,  wench,  as  well  as  heart  can  wish,  with  calves'  chauUlrcns  and 
chitterlings.'  At  the  coronation  feast  of  Elizabeth  of  York,  queen  of  Henry  VII, 
among  other  dishes,  one  was  *  a  swan  with  chaudron^  meaning  sauce  made  with  its 
entrails. 

White.  This  seems  to  have  been  the  omentum  or  rim ;  it  was  certainly  some  part 
of  the  entrails. 

Dyce  (Gloss,)  'A  Calves  chauldron.  Echinus  vituli,* — Coles's  Lat,  and  Eng, 
Diet, 

Clarendon.  Probably  like  the  German  Kaldaunen^  with  which  it  is  connected, 

*  chaudron  '  is  a  plural  noun  and  should  be  spelt  *  chaudren.'     It  is  spelt  *  chaldcrn  * 


ACT  IV,  sc.  i.]  MACBETH.  203 

For  the  Ingredients  of  our  cauldron. 

All.     Double,  double  toil  and  trouble ;  35 

Fire  burn  and  cauldron  bubble. 

Sec,  Witch,     Cool  it  with  a  baboon's  blood, 
Then  the  charm  is  firm  and  good. 

EnUr  Hecate. 

Hec.     O,  well  done !  I  commend  your  pains ; 

34.     ingredient5\   Dav.     Ingreditnce  Steev.  Var.  Sing.  Knt  i.    Enter  Hecate 

Ff,  Cap.  and  other  Witches  Coll.     Enter  Hecate 

cauldron\  cawdron  F,F,,  Dav.  to  the  other  three  Witches  Glo.  Cam. 

38.     Enter....]    Ritson,    Dyce,    Sta,  Cla.     Enter    Hecate   and   other   three 

White,  Hal.  Knt  ii.  Enter  Hecat,  and  the  Witches  Rowe,  et  cet. 

other  three  Witches.  Ff  (Hecate,  FjF.),  39.     0'\  om.  Anon.* 

in  Cotgrave,  who  gives  *  calves  chaldem  *  as  a  translation  of  Fraise.     We  find, 
however,  *  chaudrons,'  or  *  chaldrons,*  in  one  of  Middleton's  plays,  vol.  iii,  p.  55, 
ed.  Dyce,  1840. 
34.  ingredients]  See  note  I,  vii,  11. 

37.  baboon]  Walker  [Crit.  ii.  27).  Here  may  be  noticed  b&boon,  GifTord, 
note  on  Jonson,  Cynthia's  Revels^  I,  i,  vol.  ii,  p.  240, — *  nor  your  hyaena,  nor  your 
babion.'  *  Our  old  writers  spelt  this  word  in  many  different  ways ;  all,  however, 
derived  from  bavaan,  Dutch.  We  had  our  knowledge  of  this  animal  from  the  Hol- 
landers, who  found  it  in  great  numbers  at  the  Cape.*  (Is  not  the  Dutch  word  Ba- 
viaan  ?  [So  it  would  seen!  from  Sewel's  Diet. — Lettsom.]  There  is  a  spot  in 
Caffraria  called  B avians- klocf^  or  the  Baboofis*  Valley ;  and  with  this  one  of  our  old 
forms,  Babion f  ut  supra^  agrees.)  The  Bdvian  is  one  of  the  performers  in  the  rustic 
pageant.  Two  Noble  Kinsmen.     So  also  pronounce  *bdboon*  in  Pericles,  IV,  vi,  189. 

38.  Enter  Hecate]  Ritson.  The  insertion  of  these  words  *and  the  other  Three 
Witches^  in  the  Folio  must  be  a  mistake.  There  is  no  reason  to  suppose  that  Sh. 
meant  to  introduce  more  than  Three  Witches  upon  the  scene. 

Steevens.  Perhaps  they  were  brought  on  for  the  sake  of  the  approaching  dance. 
Surely  the  original  triad  of  hags  was  insufficient  for  the  performance  of  the  *  antic 
round,'  introduced  in  line  130. 

Anonymous.  Sh.  probably  wrote  *the  other  witches.*  The  word  *three^  having 
been  introduced  in  all  the  former  instances,  might  have  crept  in,  through  the  inadver- 
tency of  the  printer. 

Dyce  [Jiemarks,  &c.,  p.  200).  'What  other  three  Witches  are  intended*  is  plain 
enough, — the  three  who  now  enter  for  the  first  time,  there  being  already  three  on  the 
stage :  the  number  of  Witches  in  this  scene  is  six. 

Hunter  {New  III.,  &c.,  ii,  163).  The  play  opens  with  three  witches  only.  At 
their  interview  with  Macbeth  and  Banquo  there  are  three  only.  In  III,  v,  when 
Hecate  is  first  introduced,  there  are  only  three.  At  the  opening  of  IV  we  find  the 
three  around  their  cauldron,  when  after  awhile  occurs  this  stage-direction  [in  the 
Folio,  ut  supra'].  What  other  three?  We  have  had  no  witches  so  far,  except  the 
three  to  whom  Hecate  enters ;  and  when  Macbeth  enters,  it  is  manifest  that  it  is  the 
same  three  witches  whom  we  have  had  from  the  beginning,  who  declare  his  fortune 
to  him,  and  no  other ;  so  that  if  three  strange  witches  enter  with  Hecate,  they  arc 
mute,  and,  moreover,  have  nothing  to  do. 


204  MACBETH.  [act  iv,  sc.  i. 

And  every  one  shall  share  i*  the  gains :  40 

And  now  about  the  cauldron  sing, 

Like  elves  and  fairies  in  a  ring, 

Enchanting  all  that  you  put  in. 

\Music  and  a  song:  *  Black  spirits/  &c. 

[£r//  Hecate, 
Sec.  Witch,     By  the  pricking  of  my  thumbs, 

Something  wicked  this  way  comes : —  45 

Open,  locks, 

Whoever  knocks ! 

43.     Enchaniing]    Steev.     Inchant-  43.     [Exit  Hecate.]  Dyce.     om.  Ff. 

ing  Ff,  + ,  Cap.  Jen.  Mai.  Hecate  retires.  Glo.     Exit.  Sta. 

song:]  Stanza  of  four  lines  in-  45.     [Knocking.]  Coll.  White,  Del. 

serted  by  Rowe,  +,  Jen.   Mai.  Steev.  46,47.    Open.,,knocks  !'\  Dyce,  Del. 

Var.  Rann,  Sing,  i,  Elwin,  Huds.  ii.  Sta.  White,  Glo.  Cam.  Cla.  One  line,  Ff. 

Dyce  (/Jrw  Notes,  &c.,  p.  128).  When,  in  my  Remarks,  &c.,  I  said  that  *  the  num- 
ber of  Witches  in  this  scene  is  six,'  I  made  a  great  mistake,  which  was  obligingly 
pointed  out  to  me  by  Mr  Macready.  *The  other  three  Witches^  means  the  three 
already  on  the  stage, — they  being  the  other  three,  when  enumerated  along  with 
Hecate,  who  may  be  considered  as  the  chief  Witch.  Three  Witches  are  quite  suffi- 
cient for  the  business  of  the  scene ;  and  as  far  as  concerns  the  effect  to  be  produced 
on  the  spectators,  are  even  more  impressive  than  six. 

Dyce.  Various  dramas,  written  long  after  Macbeth,  afford  examples  of  stage- 
directions  worded  in  the  same  unintelligible  style.  E.  g.,  Cowley's  Cutter  of  Cole- 
man Street  opens  with  a  soliloquy  by  Trueman  Junior:  his  father  presently yW/w 
him,  and  the  stage-direction  is,  *  Enter  Trueman  Senior,  and  Trueman  Jun.' 
Again,  the  second  act  of  that  play  commences  with  a  soliloquy  by  Aurelia ;  and, 
when  ]a.ne  Joins  her,  we  find,  *  Enter  AURELIA,  Jane.' 

39-47.]  See  Clarendon,  Appendix,  p.  392.  Ed. 

43.  song]  Steevens.  In  a  former  note  [ed.  1778]  I  had  observed  that  the  origi- 
nal ed.  contains  only  the  first  two  words  of  this  song;  but  have  since  discovered  the 
entire  stanza  in  '  The  Wiich^  by  Middleton.  The  song  was,  in  all  probability,  a  tra- 
ditional one.  Perhaps  this  musical  scrap  (which  does  not  well  accord  with  the  serious 
business  of  the  scene)  was  introduced  by  the  players. 

Malone.  Scot  {^Discovery  of  Witchcraft,  1584),  enumerating  the  different  kinds 
of  spirits,  particularly  mentions  white,  black,  grey,  and  red  spirits. 

Collier.  Doubtless  it  does  not  belong  to  Middleton  more  than  to  Sh. ;  but  it  was 
inserted  in  both  dramas,  because  it  was  appropriate  to  the  occasion. 

Dyce  [quotes  Collier  and  adds,]  but  qy  ? 

[For  this  song  see  Appendix,  pp.  339,  404.  Ed.] 

44.  pricking]  Steevens.  It  is  a  very  ancient  superstition  that  all  sudden  pains 
of  the  body,  which  could  not  naturally  be  accounted  for,  were  presages  of  somewhat 
that  was  shortly  to  happen.  Hence  Upton  has  explained  a  passage  in  the  Miles  Glo- 
riosus  of  Plautus :  Timeo  quod  rerum  gesserim  hie,  ita  dorsus  totus  prurit. 

46, 47.  Capell  thus  prints  these  lines :  *  Open,  locks.  Whoever  knocks.'  Similarly 
in  V,  i,  38 :  *  The  thans  of  Fife    Had  a  wife ;  Where  is  she  now  ?' 


ACT  IV,  sc.  i.]  MACBETH,  205 

Enter  Macbeth. 

Macb.     How  now,  you  secret,  black,  and  midnight  hags ! 
What  is't  you  do  ? 

AIL  A  deed  without  a  name. 

Macb.     I  conjure  you,  by  that  which  you  profess,  50 

Howe'er  you  come  to  know  it,  answer  me : 
Though  you  untie  the  winds,  and  let  them  fight 
Against  the  churches ;  though  the  yesty  waves 
Confound  and  swallow  navigation  up ; 
Though  bladed  corn  be  lodged  and  trees  blown  down ;  55 

48.     Scene   ii.    Pope,   Han.  Warb.  55.     bladed^  bearded  Beisly.* 

Johns.  Jen. 

50.  conjure]  Clarendon.  Conjure  seems  to  be  used  by  Sh,  always  with  the  ac- 
cent on  the  first  syllable,  except  in  Rom.  &  Jul.,  II,  i,  26,  and  Oth.,  I,  iii,  105.  In 
both  these  passages  Sh.  says  *  conjAre '  where  we  should  say  *  c6njure.*  In  all  other 
cases  he  uses  *c6njure,*  whether  he  means  (i)  'adjure,*  (2)  *  conspire,'  or  (3)  *use 
magic  arts.' 

53.  churches]  Douce  (i,  396).  It  might  well  be  supposed  that  the  witches'  for- 
midable power  would  be  occasionally  directed  against  churches.  It  is  therefore  by 
no  means  improbable,  that  in  order  to  counteract  this  imaginary  danger,  the  super- 
stitious caution  of  our  ancestors  might  have  planted  the  yew  tree  in  their  church- 
yards, preferring  this  tree  not  only  on  account  of  its  vigour  as  an  evergreen,  but  as 
independently  connected,  in  some  now  forgotten  manner,  with  the  influence  of  evil 
powers. 

yesty]  Wedgewood.  Yeast  probably  arises  from  an  imitation  of  the  hissing  noise 
of  fermentation.  Anglosaxon  yst^  a  tempest,  storm.  Ystig,  stormy,  may  be  com- 
pared with  ^ yesty  waves.* 

55.  bladed]  Collier  {Notes^  &c.  (ed.  2)  p.  425).  We  are  to  recollect  that  *  bladed  • 
com  is  never  '  lodged,*  or  layed ;  but  corn  which  is  heavy  in  the  ear  is  often  borne 
down  by  wind  and  rain.  Sh.  must  have  been  aware  that  green  com,  or  com  in  the 
blade,  is  not  liable  to  be  affected  by  violent  weather.  Hence  we  may  infer  that  he 
wrote  [according to  the  (MS)]  '  bleaded  com,'  which  means,  in  some  of  the  provinces, 
and  perhaps  in  Warwickshire,  ripe  com,  com  ready  for  the  sickle.  Blead  is  a  gen- 
eral name  for  fruit ;  and  the  bleading  of  com  means  the  yielding  of  it,  the  quantity 
of  grain  obtained. 

Singer  [Sh.  Vind,  &c.,  p.  256).  Hear  what  Bamaby  Googe  says,  in  his  Trant.  of 
Heresbach's  Husbandry y  i6oi :  *  The  come,  they  say,  doth  lie  in  the  blade  xv  daies, 
flowreth  xv  daies,  ripeth  xv  daies.'  Again,  *  the  eare^  which  first  appears  inclosed  in 
the  blade y  flowreth  the  fourth  or  fifth  day  after.'  ^Bladed  com,'  therefore,  is  corn 
when  the  ear  is  enclosed  in  the  blade ;  at  which  time  it  is  particularly  subject  to  be 
lodged  by  storms,  &c.  It  is  not  blead^  but  bl&ed^  or  bldde^  that  our  ancestors  used  to 
signify  any  kind  of  fmit.  The  bleeding  of  com,  not  bleading ^  for  the  yielding  of  it, 
is  common  in  the  North. 

Collier  (ed.  2).  That  *  com  just  come  into  the  ear '  *  is  very  liable  to  be  lodged,' 
is  a  mistake ;  it  is  most  liable  to  be  lodged  when  it  is  heavy  in  the  ear,  ripe  and 
18 


206  MACBETH,  [act  iv,  sc.  i. 

Though  castles  topple  on  their  warders'  heads ; 

Though  palaces  and  pyramids  do  slope 

Their  heads  to  their  foundations ;  though  the  treasure 

Of  nature's  germens  tumble  all  together, 

Even  till  destruction  sicken ;  answer  me  60 

57.     jAj^^]  j/t^i^/Cap.  conj.Coll(MS).  Dav.    germains  Pope,     germen    Del. 

59.     natures]  Pope  ii.     Natures  Ff.  gertnan  Elwin,  Hal.    germins  Theob. 

germem\     Glo.    Dyce    ii.    Cla.  et  cet. 

Huds.  ii.  germaine  F,F,.  germain  F^F^,  59.    all  together\  Pope,  altogether  Ff . 

ready  for  the  sickle,  and  such  is  the  meaning  of  *  bleaded,*  from  A.  S.  bladan.  In 
the  next  line  the  MS  also  instructs  us  to  read  o'er  for  *  on/  and  in  line  57  stoop  for 
*  slope.* 

Staunton.  Had  Mr  Collier  turned  to  chap,  iv,  Bk  i,  of  *  Scot's  Discovery  of 
Witchcraft^ — a  work  Sh.  was  undoubtedly  well  read  in, — he  would  have  found, 
among  other  actions  imputed  to  witches,  *  that  they  can  transferre  com  in  the  blade 
from  one  place  to  another.'  And  from  the  article  on  Husbandry  in  Comenius,  yanua 
Linguaruntf  1673,  he  might  have  learned  that  *As  soon  as  standing  com  shoots  up 
to  a  blade,  it  is  in  danger  of  scathe  by  a  tempest.' 

Clarkndon.  The  epithet  is  used  with  *  grass,'  Mid.  N.  D.,  I,  i,  211. 

57.  slope]  Clarendon.  A  very  unusual  construction.  The  word  *  slope '  does 
not  occur  elsewhere  in  Sh.'s  dramas. 

59.  germens]  Theobald  [Note  on  Lear,  III,  ii,  8 :  *  Crack  nature's  mould,  all 
germins  spill  at  once').  Mr  Pope  has  explained  Germains  to  means  relations,  or 
kindred  Elements.  Then  it  must  have  been  germanes  (from  the  IjsXm,  germanus). 
But  the  Poet  here  means  *  spill  all  the  Seeds  of  Matter,  that  are,'  &c.  To  retrieve 
which  Sense  we  must  write  Germins ;  and  so  we  must  again  in  Macbeth.  And  to 
put  this  Emendation  beyond  all  Doubt,  I'll  produce  one  more  Passage,  where  our 
Author  not  only  uses  the  same  Thought  again,  but  the  Word  that  ascertains  my  Ex- 
plication. In  Winter's  Tale,  IV,  iv,  490:  *  Let  Nature  crush  the  sides  o'  th'  Earth 
together,  And  marr  the  Seeds  within.' 

Elwin.  The  ancient  reading  has  been  altered  to  germins^  to  the  annihilation  of  its 
true  meaning,  and  the  unspeakable  depreciation  of  its  force.  Nature's  german  are 
nature's  kindred ^  or  those  who  stand  in  the  relation  of  brotherhood  to  one  another  ; 
that  is,  mankind  in  general.  The  treasure  of  nature's  german  is,  therefore,  thf 
treasures,  or  the  best,  of  the  human  race.  Sh.  frequently  uses  the  term  nature  for 
human  nature,  as  in  Lear,  III,  ii,  8. 

Delius.  It  is  unnecessary  to  rend  *  germenj,'  since  '  germen  *  is  in  itself  a  collective 
noun. 

White.  Germins  are  sprouting  seeds.  The  word  is  here  used  in  the  largest  figura- 
tive sense. 

59.60.  germens... destruction]  Rushton  [Archiv  f  n.  Sprachen,  xl).  *  It  is  tu 
be  oljserved  that  there  is  wast,  destruction,  and  exile.  Wast  properly  is  in  houses, 
gardens,  in  timber  trees,  either  by  cutting  them  down,  or  topping  them,  or  doing  any 
act  whereby  the  timber  may  decay.  If  the  tenant  cut  down  limber  trees,  this  is  wast ; 
and  if  he  suffer  the  young  germins  to  be  destroyed,  this  is  destruction.^ — Coke  upon 
Littleton,  53,  a. 

60.  destruction  sicken]  Clarendon.  Compare  Twelfth  Night,  I,  i,  3.    A  some- 


ACT  IV.  sc.  i.]  MACBETH.  207 

To  what  I  ask  you. 
First  Witch,         Speak. 
Sec.  Witch.  Demand. 

Third  Witch.  We'll  answer. 

First  Witch.  Say,  if  thou'dst  rather  hear  it  from  our  mouths, 
Or  from  our  masters  ? 

Macb.  Call  'em,  let  me  see  *em. 

First  Witch.     Pour  in  sow's  blood,  that  hath  eaten 
Her  nine  farrow ;  grease  that's  sweaten  65 

From  the  murderer's  gibbet  throw 
Into  the  flame. 

All.  Come,  high  or  low ; 

Thyself  and  office  deftly  show ! 

Thunder.     First  Apparition :  an  armed  Head. 

Macb.     Tell  me,  thou  unknown  power, — 

62.  thoti^dst^  Cap.  tV  hadstYi^  +,  65.  grease"]  Pope,  greaze  F^,  Dav. 
Jen.  greace  Fj^F^F^.    grace  Rowe  ii. 

63.  masters?]  Pope,  +,  Jen.  Dyce,  68.  First...]  i.  Apparation,  an  Armed 
Del.  Glo.  Cam.  Cla.  Huds.  ii.  masters.  Head.  Ff  (Apparition,  F  F^).  Appari- 
Ff.     masters'  ?  Cap.  et  cet.  tion  of  an  armed  Head  rises.  Rowe,  + . 

Vm Vw]    them them    Cap.  69.    pouter, — ]  Cap.   power —  Rowe, 

Steev.  Var.  Sing,  i,  Knt.  +.    power.  Ff. 

what  similar  personification  is  found  in  the  dirge  which  Collins  wrote  for  Cymbeline : 
*  Beloved  till  life  can  charm  no  more.  And  moum'd  till  Pity's  self  be  dead.' 

63.  'em]  Collier.  Some  modem  actors  lay  a  peculiar  emphasis  on  them,  which 
could  not  be  meant  by  Sh.  if  he  wrote  the  contraction  of  *  'em '  for  them  in  both 
instances. 

64.  sow's]  Steevens.  Sh.  probably  caught  this  idea  from  the  laws  of  Kenneth 
n,  of  Scotland :  *  If  a  sowe  eate  hir  pigges^  let  hyr  be  stoned  to  death  and  buried.' — 
Holinshcd's  History  of  Scotland,  edit.  1 577,  p.  181. 

65.  farrow]  Clarendon.  This  word  comes  from  A.  S.fearh,  a  little  pig,  or  litter 
of  pigs.  It  is  found  in  Holland's  Pliny,  Bk  viii,  c.  51 :  *One  sow  may  bring  at  one 
farrow  twcntie  pigges.' 

sweaten]  For  instances  of  irregular  participial  formation  see  Abbott  (§  344). 

66.  gibbet]  Douce.  Apuleius,  in  describing  the  process  used  by  the  witch,  Milo's 
wife,  for  transforming  herself  into  a  bird,  says  that  *  she  cut  the  lumps  of  flesh  of 
such  as  were  hanged,'  See  Adlington's  translation,  1596,  p.  49,  a  book  certainly 
used  by  Sh.  on  other  occasions. 

68.  deftly]  Clarendon.  Aptly,  fitly ;  it  is  connected  with  A.  S.  gedceftan,  p.p. 
gedipft,  to  be  fit,  ready,  prepared. 

armed  Head]  Upton.  The  armed  head  represents  symbolically  Macbeth's  head 
cut  off  and  brought  to  Malcolm  by  Macduff.  The  bloody  child  is  Macduff  untimely 
ripped  from  his  mother's  womb.     The  child  with  a  crown  on  his  head,  and  a  bough 


2o8  MACBETH,  [act  iv.  sc.  i. 

First  Witch.  He  knows  thy  thought : 

Hear  his  speech,  but  say  thou  nought.  7c 

First  App,     Macbeth!  Macbeth!  Macbeth!  beware  Macduff; 
Beware  the  thane  of  Fife.     Dismiss  me :  enough.         [Descends, 

Mofb,     Whatever  thou  art,  for  thy  good  caution  thanks  ; 
Thou  hast  harp'd  my  fear  aright :  but  one  word  more, — 

First  Witch,  He  will  not  be  commanded :  here's  another,  75 
More  potent  than  the  first. 

Thunder,     Second  Apparition  :  a  bloody  Child, 

Sec,  App.     Macbeth !  Macbeth !  Macbeth  ! 

Macb,     Had  I  three  ears,  I'd  hear  thee. 

Sec.  App,     Be  bloody,  bold,  and  resolute;  laugh  to  scorn 
The  power  of  man,  for  none  of  woman  born  8c 

Shall  harm  Macbeth.  [Descends. 

Macb,     Then  live,  Macduff:  what  need  I  fear  of  thee  ? 
But  yet  I'll  make  assurance  double  sure, 

71.  Rowc.     Two  lines,  Ff.  bloody  Child  rises.  Rowe,  +. 

72.  [Descends.]  Rowe.  He  De-  78-81.  Had... Macbeth."]  Lines  end 
scends.  Ff.                                                        bold,.. ..manf.... Macbeth.     Reed    (1803, 

74.     Thou  hasf]    ThouUt  Pope,  +,  1813),  Var.  Sing.  i. 

Dyce  ii,  Huds.  ii,  79.     Rowe.     Two  lines,  Ff. 

morey — ]  Dyce.     more —  Rowe,  83.     assurance  double]  Pope,     assu- 

+ .     more.  Ff,  Cap.  ranee :  double  F,.  assurance,  double  F^ 

76.     Second ]    2    Apparition,    a  F J**^* 

Bloody  Childe.    Ff.      Apparition   of   a  double  sure]   double-sure  Huds.  ii. 

in  his  hand,  is  the  royal  Malcolm,  who  ordered  his  soldiers  to  hew  them  down  a 
bough  and  bear  it  before  them  to  Dunsinane. 

Clarendon.  This  gives  additional  force  to  the  words  *  He  knows  thy  thoughts.* 

70.  nought]  Steevens.  Silence  was  necessary  during  all  incantations.  So,  in 
Doctor  FaustuSy  1 604:  *  demand  no  questions, —  But  in  dumb  silence  let  them  come 
and  go.'     Again,  in  Tempest,  IV,  i,  126. 

72.  enough]  Staunton.  It  was  the  ancient  belief  that  spirits  called  to  earth  by 
spells  and  incantations  were  intolerant  of  question  and  eager  to  be  dismissed.  See 
2  Hen.  VI :  I,  iv,  31. 

76.  Clarendon.  Oteerve,  too,  that  the  second  apparition,  Macduff,  is  *  more  po- 
tent than  the  first,*  Macbeth. 

78.  three  cars]  Seymour.  You  need  not  repeat  anything  to  my  eager  attention, 
for  had  I  a  distinct  organ  of  hearing  for  every  word  thou  utterest,  they  should  all  be 
engaged  in  listening. 

Hudson.  So  the  expression  still  in  use,  *  I  listened  with  all  the  ears  I  had.^ 

80.  See  Holinshed,  Appendix,  p.  367. 

83.  double]  RusHTON  {Sh.  a  Lawyer,  p.  20).  Referring  not  to  a  single,  but  to  a 
conditional,  bond,  under  or  by  virtue  of  which,  when  forfeited,  double  the  principal 
sum  was  recoverable. 


ACT  IV,  sc.  i.]  MACBETH.  209 

And  take  a  bond  of  fate :  thou  shalt  not  live ; 

That  I  may  tell  pale-hearted  fear  it  lies,  85 

And  sleep  in  spite  of  thunder. 

Thunder,     Third  Apparition :  a  Child  crowned^  with  a  tree  in  his  hand. 

What  is  this, 
That  rises  like  the  issue  of  a  king, 
And  wears  upon  his  baby-brow  the  round 
And  top  of  sovereignty  ? 

All,  Listen,  but  speak  not  to't. 

Third  App,     Be  lion-mettled,  proud,  and  take  no  care  90 

86,87.     What„Mng,'\   Rowe.     One  88.     baby-bronv]      Hyphen,    Ff,    +, 

line,  Ff.  Dyce,  Glo.  Cam.  Cla. 

86.     Third...]    3   Apparation...hand.  89.     /<?V]  om.  Pope, +,  Cap.  Steev. 

Ff  (Apparition,  F  F^).    Apparition  of...  90.     lion'mettl€d'\  Hyphen,  Dav. 
rises.  Rowe,  +. 

Lord  Campbell  (p.  iii).  Macbeth  did  not  consider  what  should  be  the  penalty 
of  the  bond,  or  how  he  was  to  enforce  the  remedy,  if  the  condition  should  be  broken. 
He  goes  on,  in  the  same  legal  jargon,  to  say  that  he  *  shall  live  the  lease  of  nature.* 
But  unluckily  for  Macbeth,  the  lease  contained  no  covenants  for  title  or  quiet  enjoy- 
ment:— there  were  like-wise /or/eitures  to  be  incurred  by  the  tenant, — with  a  clause 
of  re-entry y — and  consequently  he  was  speedily  ousted. 

Clarendon.  By  slaying  Macduff  he  will  bind  fate  to  perform  the  promise. 

89.  top]  Theqbald  (Nichols's  Lit,  Illust,  ii,  529).  Is  the  Crown  properly  the /^/ 
of  sovereignty,  or  only  the  emblem  and  distinguishing  mark  of  that  high  rank  ?  I 
would  read  type.     So  in  3  Hen.  VI :  I,  iv,  121 ;  and  Rich.  Ill :  IV,  iv,  244. 

Johnson.  The  round  is  that  part  of  the  crown  that  encircles  the  head.  The  top 
is  the  ornament  that  rises  above  it. 

White.  Sh.  makes  Macbeth  call  the  crown  *the  round  of  sovereignty*  here  and 
elsewhere — first,  obviously,  in  allusion  to  the  form  of  the  ornament.  That  is  prose ; 
but  immediately  his  poetic  eye  sees  that  a  crown  is  the  external  sign  of  the  complete 
possession  of  the  throne.  It  is  the  visible  evidence  that  the  royalty  of  its  wearer 
lacks  nothing,  but  is  *  totus^  teres^  atque  rotundus  * — that  it  is  finished,  just  as  *  our 
little  life  is  rounded  with  a  sleep.*  But  the  crown  not  only  completes  (especially  in 
the  eye  of  Macbeth,  the  usurper)  and  rounds,  as  with  the  perfection  of  a  circle,  the 
claim  to  sovereignty,  but  it  is  figuratively  the  top,  the  summit,  of  ambitious  hopes. 
Sh.  often  uses  *top'  in  this  sense — e.  g.  '  the  top  of  admiration,*  *  the  top  of  judge- 
ment,* *  the  top  of  honor,*  *  the  top  of  happy  hours.*  All  this  flashed  upon  Sh. 
through  his  mind's  eye,  as  he  saw  the  circlet  upon  the  top  of  the  child's  head.  Dr 
Johnson's  note  is  a  fair  specimen  of  his  ability  to  comprehend  and  elucidate  the 
poetry  of  Sh.  Learned  and  wise  as  he  was,  the  power  of  sympathetic  apprehension 
of  the  higher  and  subtler  beauties  of  poetry,  possessed  by  many  a  man  whose  only 
skill  in  letters  is  to  read  and  write,  seems  to  have  been  lacking  in  the  great  moralist. 

90-93.  Singer,  in  the  Preface  to  Sh.*s  Text  Vindicated,  p.  vii,  says  that  in  his 
copy  of  F^  these  lines  have  been  corrected  in  MS,  as  follows  : 
i8»  O 


.> 


2 1 C  MA  CBETH.  [act  iv.  sc.  L 

Who  chafes,  who  frets,  or  where  conspirers  are : 

Macbeth  shall  never  vanquished  be  until 

Great  Birnam  wood  to  high  Dunsinane  hill 

Shall  come  against  him.  [Descends. 

Macb.  That  will  never  be : 

Who  can  impress  the  forest,  bid  the  tree  9^ 

Unfix  his  earth-bound  root  ?     Sweet  bodements  I  good ! 
Rebellion's  head,  rise  never,  till  the  wood 

93.     Birnam]  Bymam  F,F,Fj.  94.     [Descends.]  Rowe.  Descend.  Ff. 

Birnam  wood,,, Dunsinane  hiW]  97.     Rebellion's  head]    Theob.  conj. 

Bimam-wood,„Dunsinani-Aill  Ktly.  Han.   Coll.   ii    (MS),  Sing,  ii,   Dyce, 

high  Dunsinane]  high  Duns-  White,  Glo.  Cam.  Cla.  Huds.  ii.  rebel- 
mane  Fj.  Dunsinan^s  high  Pope,  + .  lious  dead  Ff,  Dav.  Rowe,  Pope,  Hal. 
Dunsinane  high  Cap.  rebellious  head  Theob.  et  cet. 

Be  IXon-hearttd,  proud,  and  take  no  care. 
Who  chafes,  wha  frets,  or  where  conspirers  tu%, 
Macbeth  shall  never  vanqutsh'd  be  or  siaiiu 
Till  Bimam-wccd  shall  com*  to  Dunsinane, 

93.  Birnam]  See  V,  iv,  3. 

Dunsinane]  Ritson.  The  present  quantity  of  Dunsinane  is  right.  In  every 
subsequent  instance  the  accent  is  misplaced.  Thus,  in  Hervey's  Life  of  King  Rob- 
ert Bruce f  1729  (a  good  authority) : 

'  Whose  deeds  let  Birnam  and  DumstMnan  tell. 
When  Canmore  battled,  and  the  villain  fell.' 

Steevens.  This  accent  may  be  defended  on  the  authority  of  Andrew  of  Wyn- 
town*s  Cronykilf  b.  vi,  ch.  xviii : 

*  A  gret  hows  for  to  male  of  were 
A-pon  the  hycht  of  DwnsynSne.' — v.  xao. 

It  should  be  observed,  however,  that  Wyntown  employs  both  quantities.  Thus,  in 
b.  vi,  ch.  xviii,  v.  190: 


* the  Thane  wes  thare 

Of  Fyfe,  and  till  Dwnsyn&ne  ftu% 
To  byde  Makbeth ;— .' 

Warton.  Prophecies  of  apparent  impossibilities  were  common  in  Scotland;  such 
as  the  removal  of  one  place  to  another.     Thus  Sir  David  Lindsay : 

'  Quhen  the  Bas  and  the  Isle  of  May 
Beis  set  upon  the  Mount  Sinay, 
Quhen  the  Lowmound  besyde  Falkland 
Be  liftit  to  Northumberland / 

Clarendon.  Now  spelt  *  Dunsinnan.* 

[See  French.  Genealogy,  &c.,  p.  288.  Ed.] 

05.  impress]  Johnson.  Who  can  command  the  forest  to  serve  him  like  a  soldier 
impressed  ? 

97.  Rebellion's  head]  Theobald.  It  looks  to  me  as  if  [the  Editors]  were  con- 
tent to  believe  the  Poet  genuine,  wherever  he  was  mysterious  beyond  being  under- 


ACT  IV,  sc.  L]  MA  CBETH.  2 1 1 

Of  Birnam  rise,  and  our  high-placed  Macbeth 

Shall  live  the  lease  of  nature,  pay  his  breath 

To  time  and  mortal  custom.     Yet  my  heart  lOO 

Throbs  to  know  one  thing :  tell  me, — if  your  art 

Can  tell  so  much, — shall  Banquo's  issue  ever 

Reign  in  this  kingdom  ? 

A//.  Seek  to  know  no  more. 

Macb,     I  will  be  satisfied :  deny  me  this, 
And  an  eternal  curse  fall  on  you  !     Let  me  know, —  105 

Why  sinks  that  cauldron  ?  and  what  noise  is  this  ?       [Hautboys, 

98.     Bimam\  Byrnan  F^.  Byrnam  105.     Let  me  know\   Separate  line, 

F,F,.  Abbott. 

160,  no.     hearf^  Hart  F,.  105,  106.     know, — ]  know,  Ff,  Pope, 

103.     [The  Cauldron  sinks  into  the  Han.  Coll.  Glo.  Cla.    know —  White. 

ground.  Rowe,  +.  know  Walker. 

105.  [Thunder;  and  the  Cauldron  106.  [Hautboys.]  Theob.  Hoboyes. 
sinks.     Horrid  Musick.  Cap.  F^F^F^.     Hoboys.  F^,  Pope.     om.  Cap. 

stood.  The  Emendation  of  one  Letter  gives  us  clear  Sense,  and  the  very  Thing 
which  Macbeth  should  be  suppos'd  to  say  here.  We  must  restore:  'Rebellious 
Heady  [or  *  Rebellion's  Head,* — given  in  Sh,  Restored,  p.  187.]  i.  e.  Let  Rebellion 
never  make  Head  against  me,  till  a  Forest,  &c.  Sh.  very  frequently  uses  this  Terra 
to  this  Purpose,  thus  in  I  Hen.  IV :  IH,  ii,  167;  ib.  V,  i,  66;  2  Hen.  IV:  I,  iii,  71 ; 
Hen.  VIII :  II,  i,  108;  Cor.,  II,  ii,  92. 

Dyce,  White.  Hanmer's  reading  is  evidently  right. 

Halliwell.  The  modem  readings,  rebellious  head,  or  rebellion's  head,  do  not 
agree  with  the  context ;  for  Macbeth,  relying  on  the  statements  of  the  apparition, 
was  firmly  impressed  with  the  belief  that  none  of  woman  bom  could  prevent  his  liv- 
ing *  the  lease  of  nature.*  Confiding  in  the  literal  tmth  of  this  prophecy,  his  fears 
were  concentrated  on  the  probable  re-appearance  of  the  dead,  alluding  more  es- 
pecially to  the  ghost  of  Banquo;  and  these  fears  were  then  conquered  by  the 
apparent  impossibility  of  the  movement  of  Bimam  wood  to  Dunsinane.  The  first 
prophecy  relieves  him  from  the  fear  of  mortals ;  the  second  from  the  fear  of  the  dead. 

Clarendon.  The  expression  is  evidently  suggested  to  Macbeth  by  the  apparition 
of  the  armed  head. 

Clarke.  Our  reason  for  adopting  *  Rebellious  head  *  is  that  it  departs  less  from 
the  original ;  and  not  only  expresses  *  rebellious  body  of  men,*  *  insurgent  force,*  but 
allows  the  inclusive  effect  of  reference  to  the  apparition  of  the  'armed  head*  that 
Macbeth  has  lately  beheld. 

98.  our]  Lettsom  [ap.  Dyce  (cd.  2)].  Read^w^r.  See  Walker's  CW/.,ii,  7: — 
Instances  of  your  misprinted  for  our. 

Clarendon.  [Whether  *  our '  or  your"]  the  words  seem  strange  in  Macbeth  s 
mouth. 

99.  lease  of  nature]  Rushton  {Sh.  a  Lawyer,  p.  31).  That  is,  lease  for  term 
of  life.     See  Litt.,  s.  57. 

106.  noise]  Steevens.  This  was  often  literally  synonymous  for  musick.  Thus 
Spenser,  Fairy  Queen,  Bk  i,  xii,  39 :  *  During  which  time  there  was  a  heavenly 


212 


MACBETH. 


[act  IV,  sc.  i. 


First  Witch.  Show! 
Sec.  Witch,  Show! 
Third  WJch.     Show ! 

A//.     Show  his  eyes,  and  grieve  his  heart ;  no 

Come  like  shadows,  so  depart ! 

A  show  of  ei^ht  Kings,  the  last  with  a  glass  in  his  hand ;  Banquo^s  Ghost 

following. 

Macb.     Thou  art  too  like  the  spirit  of  Banquo :  down ! 


III.     like\  light  Yjn\./\, 

A  show...]  Glo.  A  shew  (sha- 
dow Dav.)  of  eight  Kings,  and  Banquo 
last,  with  a  glasse  in  his  hand.  Ff,  Coll. 
(and  Banquo  first  and  last,  Coll.  MS), 
Sing,  ii,  Ktly.  Eight  Kings  appear  and 
pass  over  in  order,  and  B.  last,  with 
a   Glass    in    his    Hand.    Rowe,   Pope. 


Eight... order,  and  B. ;  the  last,  with  a 
glass  in  his  hand.  Theob.  Warb.  Johns. 
Eight... order,  the  last  holding  a  glass  in 
his  hand  :  with  B.  following  them.  Han. 
substantially :  Cap.  Jen.  Steev.  Var.  Sing, 
i,  Knt,  Dyce,  Sta.  Del.  Hal.  An  appa- 
rition of  eight  Kings  and  Banquo... the 
last  King  bearing  a  mirror.  While. 


noise';  and  likewise  the  47th  Psalm.  [Note  on  2  Hen.  IV:  II,  iv,  13.]  A  noise 
of  musicians  anciently  signified  a  concert  or  company  of  them.  In  Westward  Hoe 
by  Dekker  and  Webster,  1607 :  *  All  the  noise  that  went  with  him,  poor  fellows, 
have  had  their  fiddle-cases  pulled  over  their  ears.' 

GiFFORD  ( The  Silent  Woman,  Jonson's  Worhs,  vol.  iii,  p.  402).  This  term,  which 
occurs  perpetually  in  our  old  dramatists,  means  a  company  or  concert,  .  .  ,  When 
this  term  went  out  of  use,  I  cannot  tell ;  but  it  was  familiar  in  Dryden's  time,  who 
has  it  in  his  Wild  Gallant^  and  elsewhere :  *  I  hear  him  coming,  and  a  whole  noise 
of  fiddlers  at  his  heels.* — Maiden  Queen, 

Dyce  [Gloss.)  I  may  also  mention  that  Wycherley  uses  the  word  in  the  sense  of 
*  a  company,'  without  any  reference  to  music:  *a  whole  noise  of  flatterers.' — 77ie 
Plain  Dealer,  I,  i. 

Anonymous.  When  J.  P.  Kemble  revived  this  tragedy,  in  1803,  this  noise  was 
represented  by  a  shriek  ;  a  novelty  quite  inconsistent  with  the  poet's  intentions. 

III.  'DXQiE.  (Remarks y  &c.,  p.  200).  [The  direction  in  the  Ff]  makes  Banquo 
bear  a  glass  in  his  hand ;  while  on  the  contrary,  Macbeth  exclaims  that  he  sees  the 
eighth  King  bearing  it,  and  Banquo  coming  after  him. 

Collier  (ed.  2).  It  is  not  clear  from  the  (MS)  in  what  way  the  *  show  '  was  man- 
aged, nor  whether,  in  fact,  Banquo  led,  as  well  as  closed,  the  procession. 

Hunter.  Shows  like  this  were  among  the  deceptions  practised  by  magicians  in 
Sh.'s  own  time. 

Only  I  have  sometimes,  not  without  amazement,  thought  of  the  representation  which  a  celebrated 
magician  made  unto  Catharine  de  Medicis,  the  French  Queen,  whose  impious  cruelty  led  her  to  desire 
of  him  a  magical  exhibition  of  all  the  kings  that  had  hitherto  reigned  in  France,  and  were  yet  to 
reign.  The  shapes  of  all  the  kings,  even  unto  the  husband  of  the  Queen,  successively  shewed  them- 
selves in  the  enchanted  circle  in  which  the  conjuror  mnde  his  invocations  ;  and  they  took  as  many 
turns  as  there  had  been  years  in  their  government.  The  kings  that  were  to  come  did  thus  in  like 
manner  successively  come  upon  the  stage,  namely,  Francis  II,  Charles  IX,  Henry  III,  Hcnrj'  IV; 
which  being  done,  then  two  Cardinals,  Richelieu  and  Mazarine,  in  red  hats,  became  visible  in  the 
spectacle.  But  after  these  cardinals  there  entered  wolves,  bears,  tigers,  and  lions  to  consummate 
the  entertainxnent. — Magnalia  Christi  Americafta,  by  Cotton  Mather,  D.  D.,  Bk  ii,  p.  29.  170a. 


ACT  IV,  sc.  i.]  AfA  CBETH.  2 1 3 

Thy  crown  does  sear  mine  eye-balls. — ^And  thy  hair, 

Thou  other  gold-bound  brow,  is  like  the  first. — 

A  third  is  like  the  former. — Filthy  hags !  115 

Why  do  you  show  me  this  ? — ^A  fourth  ? — Start,  eyes  ! — 

What,  will  the  line  stretch  out  to  the  crack  of  doom  ? — 

Another  yet? — A  seventh?— ^I'll  see  no  more  : — 

113.  eye-bails.  And  thy  hair ^  eye-  bound-brow  Ff,  Rowe,  Pope.  Gold 
balls ;  and  thy  hair.  Coll.  (MS).  bound-brow  Dav. 

hair"]    haire    Ff.       air    Johns.  m]  art  Coll.  (MS). 

Warb.  Var.     A<ri>  Jackson.  1 16.     <ry«]  <y/^  F^F^F^,  + . 

114.  gold-bound brow\lL\i^^,  Cold- 

Sh.  has  shown  his  art  in  not  suffering  more  than  eight  kings  to  appear  in  the  pro- 
cession, the  rest  being  shown  only  on  the  mirror. 

Deli  us.  A  *  show,'  in  theatrical  language,  is  a  procession,  or  pantomime  in  which 
the  actors  remained  silent,  hence  usually  called  a  *dumb  show.' 

112.  Hunter.  This  is  finely  imagined.  Macbeth  does  not  compare  what  he  saw 
to  Banquo,  but  to  the  fearful  image  of  Banquo  which  he  lately  beheld. 

113.  hair]  Johnson.  As  Macbeth  expected  to  see  a  train  of  kings,  and  was  only 
inquiring  from  what  race  they  would  proceed,  he  could  not  be  surprised  that  the 
hair  of  the  second  was  bound  with  gold  like  that  of  the  first ;  he  was  offended  only 
that  the  second  resembled  the  first,  as  the  first  resembled  Banquo,  and  therefore  said, 
*  thy  «/>,'  &c. 

Steevens.  So  in  Wint.  Tale,  V,  i,  127:  *  Your  father's  image  is  so  hit  in  you, 
His  very  air,  that  I  should  call  you  brother.* 

Monk  Mason.  It  means  that  the  hair  of  both  was  of  the  same  colour,  which  is  a 
natural  feature  more  likely  to  mark  a  family-likeness  than  the  air,  which  depends 
upon  habit,  and  a  dancing-master. 

Collier.  Had  air  been  intended,  the  pronoun  before  it  would  probably  have  been 
printed  thine^  and  not  *  thy.* 

Elwin.  The  word  hair  was  formerly  used  to  express  breeds  character^  or  condi- 
tion.    Thus,  in  *  The  Family  of  Love ' :  * they  say  I  am  of  the  right  hair.* 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  *  Air*  certainly  receives  some  support  from  Wint.  Tale  [ut  supra]. 

116.  Start,  eyes]  Delius.  Macbeth  can  gaze  no  longer,  and  therefore  bids  his 
eyes  start  from  such  a  sight. 

Clarendon.  Start  from  your  sockets,  so  that  I  may  be  spared  the  horror  of  the 
vision. 

117.  crack]  Steevens.   That  is,  the  dissolution  of  nature.     Crack  has  now  a 
mean  signification.     It  was  anciently  employed  in  a  more  exalted  sense.     So,  in  The 
Valiant  Welchmany  1615  :  *  And  will  as  fearless  entertain  this  sight,  As  a  good  con- 
science doth  the  cracks  of  Jove.' 

Hunter  {New  /llust.,  i,  196).  No  one  beside  Steevens  seems  to  have  bestowed  a 
thought  upon  the  passage.  The  quotation  from  The  Valiant  IVelchman  is  nothing 
to  the  purpose ;  the  '  cracks  of  Jove  *  mean  the  thunder.     Yet  it  may  be  right. 

Clarendon.  The  thunder-peal  announcing  the  Last  Judgement.  *  Crack,*  the 
verb,  is  used  of  thunder  in  Tarn,  of  Shr.,  I,  ii,  96;  and  the  substantive  in  Tit.  And., 


214  MA  CBE  TH.  [act  i  v.  sc.  L 

And  yet  the  eighth  appears,  who  bears  a  glass 

Which  shows  me  many  more;  and  some  I  see  120 

That  two-fold  balls  and  treble  sceptres  carry : 

Horrible  sight ! — Now  I  see  'tis  true  ; 

For  the  blood-bolter'd  Banquo  smiles  upon  me, 

119.     eighth'\  eight  F,F,.  Ay^  nottf  Steev. 

1 22.  iVaw]  nay  natu  Pope,  + ,  Cap. 

119.  glass]  Steevens.  This  method  of  prophecy  is  referred  to  in  Meas.  for 
Meas.,  II,  ii,  95.  So  in  an  Extract  from  the  Penal  Laws  Against  Witches,  it  is  said 
that  'they  do  answer  either  by  voice,  or  else  do  set  before  their  eyes  in  glasses, 
chrystal  stones,  &c.  the  pictures  or  images  of  the  persons  or  things  sought  for,' 
Spenser,  Fairy  Queen,  Bk  iii,  c.  ii,  has  given  a  very  circumstantial  account  of  the 
glass  which  Merlin  made  for  king  Ryencc,  A  mirror  of  the  same  kind  was  pre- 
sented to  Cambuscan  in  7'he  Squier^s  Tale  of  Chaucer,  and  in  Alday's  trans,  of 
Boisteau's  Theatrutn  Afundi,  &c. :  <  A  certaine  philosopher  did  the  like  to  Pompey, 
the  which  sheioed  him  in  a  glasse  the  order  of  his  enemies  march.* 

121.  Warrurton.  This  was  intended  as  a  compliment  to  king  James  the  First, 
who  first  united  the  two  islands  and  the  three  kingdoms  under  one  head ;  whose 
house  too  was  said  to  be  descended  from  Banquo. 

Steevens.  Of  this  last  particular  Sh.  seems  to  have  been  thoroughly  aware, 
having  represented  Banquo  not  only  as  an  innocent,  but  as  a  noble  character; 
whereas,  according  to  history,  he  was  confederate  with  Macbeth  in  the  murder  of 
Duncan. 

Clarendon.  The  *  two-fold  balls  *  here  mentioned  probably  refer  to  the  double 
coronation  of  James,  at  Scone  and  at  Westminster. 

123.  blood-boltered]  Steevens.  To  boiler,  in  Warwickshire,  signifies  to  daub, 
dirty,  or  begrime,  *  I  ordered*  (says  my  informant)  *  a  harness-collar  to  be  made  with 
a  linen  lining,  but  blacked,  to  give  it  the  appearance  of  leather.  The  saddler  made 
the  lining  as  he  was  directed,  but  did  not  black  it,  saying  it  would  bolter  the  hoi-se. 
Being  asked  what  he  meant  by  bolter,  he  replied,  dirty,  besmear,  and  that  it  was  a 
common  word  in  his  country.  This  conversation  passed  within  eight  miles  of  Strat 
ford  on  Avon.'  In  the  same  neighbourhood,  when  a  boy  has  a  broken  head,  so  that 
his  hair  is  matted  together  with  blood,  his  head  is  said  to  be  boltered  [pronounced 
btfltered].     So,  in  Holland's  trans,  of  Pliny's  Natural  History,  1601,  Bk  xii,  ch. 

xvii,  p.  370:  * they  doe  drop  and  distill  the  said  moisture,  which  the  shrewd 

and  unhappie  beast  catcheth  among  the  shag  long  haires  of  his  beard.  Now  by 
reason  of  dust  getting  among  it,  it  baltereth  and  cluttereth  into  knots,'  &c.  Such  a 
term  is  therefore  strictly  applicable  to  Banquo,  who  had  twenty  trenched  gashes  on 
his  head, 

Malone.  This  is  a  provincial  term  well  known  in  Wai-wickshire.  When  a  horse, 
sheep,  or  other  animal,  perspires  much,  and  any  of  the  hair,  or  wool,  becomes  matted 
in  tufts  with  grime  and  sweat,  he  is  said  to  be  boltered ;  and  whenever  the  blood 
issues  out  and  coagulates,  forming  the  locks  into  hard  clotted  bunches,  the  beast  is 
said  to  be  blood-boltered. 

Collier.  In  Arden  of  Feversham  the  word  bolstered  is  used  much  in  the  same 
sense.  Michael  says :  *  Methinks  I  see  them  with  their  bolstered  haire,  Staring  and 
grinning  in  thy  gentle  face.' 


ACT  IV.  sc.  i.]  MA  CBE  TH.  2 1 5 

And  points  at  them  for  his. — ^What,  is  this  so  ? 

First  Witch,     Ay,  sir,  all  this  is  so :  but  why  125 

Stands  Macbeth  thus  amazedly? 
Come,  sisters,  cheer  we  up  his  sprights, 
And  show  the  best  of  our  delights : 
I'll  charm  the  air  to  give  a  sound, 

124.  W^<7/,  m]  Pope.     What?  is  Y^.  125-132.     Om.  as  spurious.  Anon. ^ 
What  is  F^FjF^,  Rowe.  127.    sprights']  Ff,  Dav.  +,  Cap.  Jen. 

[Apparitions  Vanish]  Glo.  Cla.  Stecv.  Var.  Sing.  Ktly.     sprites   Knt, 

125.  First  Witch.]  Hec.  Cam.  Edd.         et  cet. 
conj. 

Richardson  {^Dict,  Supplement).  Boltered,  Having  the  hair  clotted  or  matted 
together. 

Halliwell.  According  to  Sharp's  MS  Warwickshire  Glossary ^  snow  is  said  to 
baiter  together,  and  Batchelor  says,  *•  hasty  pudding  is  said  to  be  boltered  when  much 
of  the  flower  remains  in  lumps.* — Orthoepical  Analysis,  1 809,  p.  126. 

Latham  (Johnson*  s  Diet,  sub  Bolter).  I  believe  the  Warwickshire  word  [baiter] 
to  have  originated  in  ball,  and  to  have  meant  balled,  clogged,  or  matted. 

Wedge  WOOD.  The  essential  meaning  of  the  word  [*bolt']  appears  to  be  a  knob 
or  projection.  Then  from  the  analogy  between  a  rattling  noise  and  a  jolting  motion 
we  have  jolting,  uneven,  ragged,  lumpy.  Hence  'bolter*  is  properly  to  jog  into 
projections,  to  coagulate. 

125-132.  See  Clarendon,  Appendix,  p.  392.  Ed. 

127.  sprights]  Walker  (Crit.  i,  193,  205).  It  may  safely  be  laid  down  as  a 
canon,  that  the  word  spirit  in  our  old  poets,  wherever  the  metre  does  not  compel  us 
to  pronounce  it  dissyllabically,  is  a  monosyllable.  And  this  is  almost  always  the 
case.  The  truth  of  the  above  rule  is  evident  from  several  considerations.  In  the 
first  place,  we  never  meet  with  other  dissyllables — such,  I  mean,  as  are  incapable  of 
contraction — placed  in  a  similar  situation ;  the  apparent  exceptions  not  being  really 
exceptions  (see  S.  V.  passim).  Another  argument  is  founded  on  the  unpleasant  rip- 
ple which  the  common  pronunciation  occasions  in  the  flow  of  numberless  lines,  inter- 
fering with  the  general  run  of  the  verse ;  a  harshness  which,  in  some  passages,  must 
be  evident  to  the  dullest  ear.  Add  to  this  the  frequent  substitution  of  spright  or 
sprite  for  spirit  (in  all  the  different  senses  of  the  word,  I  mean,  and  not  merely  in 
that  of  ghost,  in  which  sprite  is  still  used) ;  also  spreet,  though  rarely  (only  in  the 
ante- Elizabethan  age,  I  think,  as  far  as  I  have  observed) ;  and  sometimes  sfrit  and 
sprit.  (For  the  double  spelling,  spright  and  sprite,  one  may  compare  despighi  and 
despite;  which  in  like  manner  subsequently  assumed  different  meanings,  despight 
being  used  for  contempt,  despectus.)  Perhaps  it  would  be  desirable,  wherever  the 
word  occurs  as  a  monosyllable,  to  write  it  spright,  in  order  to  ensure  the  proper  pro- 
nunciation of  the  line.  I  prefer  spright  to  sprite ;  inasmuch  as  the  latter  invariably 
carries  with  it  a  spectral  association ;  although  the  old  writers,  in  those  passages 
where  they  write  the  word  monosyllabically,  use  sometimes  the  one  form,  sometimes 
the  other. 

[Compare  II,  iii,  75,  and  III,  v,  27.  Walker's  rule  has  been  followed  in  the 
present  instance,  since  the  word  has  clearly  no  reference  to  apparitions.  Ed.] 


2 1 6  MA  CBETH.  Fact  iv.  sc.  i. 

While  you  perform  your  antic  round,  130 

That  this  great  king  may  kindly  say 
Our  duties  did  his  welcome  pay. 

\Music,    The  Witches  dance ^  and  then  vanish,  with  Hecate, 
Macb,     Where  are  they  ?     Gone  ?     Let  this  pernicious  hour 
Stand  aye  accursed  in  the  calendar ! — 
Come  in,  without  there ! 

Enttr  Lennox. 

Len.  What's  your  grace's  will  ?  135 

Macb.    Saw  you  the  weird  sisters  ? 

Len.  No,  my  lord. 

Macb.     Came  they  not  by  you  ? 

Len.  No  indeed,  my  lord. 

Macb.     Infected  be  the  air  whereon  they  ride. 
And  damn*d  all  those  that  trust  them ! — I  did  hear 
The  galloping  of  horse :  who  was't  came  by  ?  140 

Len,     *Tis  two  or  three,  my  lord,  that  bring  you  word 
Macduff  is  fled  to  England. 

Macb.  Fled  to  England ! 

Len.    Ay,  my  good  lord. 

Macb.  [Aside"]  Time,  thou  anticipat'st  my  dread  exploits : 

130,     antic]  antickT>z.\,  antique  Yi,  vanish.  Ff,  et  cet. 
Rowe,   Pope,   Han.   Cap.   Steev.  Var.  133.     Rowe.     Two  lines,  Ff. 

Sing,  i,  Knt.  136.     sisters]  sihers  F^. 

132.     The  Witches Hecate.]  Glo.  144.     [Aside]  Johns.  Cam.  Cla.  om. 

Cam.  Cla.     The   Witches  Dance,  and  Ff,  et  cet. 

130.  antic  round]  Steevens.  These  ideas,  as  well  as  that  in  I,  iii,  32,  might 
have  been  adopted  from  a  poem,  entitled  Churchyard's  Dreamer  1593:  *  All  hand 
in  hand  they  traced  on  A  tricksie  ancient  round ;  And  soone  as  shadowes  were  they 
gone  J  And  might  no  more  be  found.* 

Clarendon.  *Antic,'  in  its  modem  sense  of  *  grotesque,*  is  probably  derived  from 
the  remains  of  ancient  sculpture  rudely  imitated  and  caricatured  by  mediceval  artists, 
and  from  the  figures  in  Masques  and  Antimasques  dressed  in  ancient  costume,  par- 
ticularly satyrs  and  the  like.  But  it  acquired  a  much  wider  application.  In  Twelfth 
Night,  II,  iv,  3,  the  word  means  old-fashioned,  quaint.  Sometimes  it  means  simply 
ancient,  as  Ham.,  II,  ii,49i.  Whatever  be  its  signification,  and  however  it  be  spelt, 
it  is  always  accented  by  Sh.  on  the  first  syllable. 

142.  England!]  Coleridge  (p.  250).  The  acme  of  the  avenging  conscience. 

144.  anticipat'st]  Johnson.  1o prevent ,  by  taking  away  the  opportunity. 

Clarendon.  So  contrariwise  we  have  *  prevent  *  used  in  old  authors  where  wc 
should  say  *  anticipate.* 


ACT  IV,  sc.  i.]  MA  CBETH.  2 1 7 

The  flighty  purpose  never  is  o'ertook  145 

Unless  the  deed  go  with  it :  from  this  moment 

The  very  firstlings  of  my  heart  shall  be 

The  firstlings  of  my  hand.     And  even  now, 

To  crown  my  thoughts  with  acts,  be  it  thought  and  done : 

The  castle  of  Macduff  I  will  surprise;  150 

Seize  upon  Fife ;  give  to  the  edge  o'  the  sword 

His  wife,  his  babes,  and  all  unfortunate  souls 

That  trace  him  in  his  line.     No  boasting  like  a  fool ; 

This  deed  I'll  do  before  this  purpose  cool : 

But  no  more  sights ! — Where  are  these  gentlemen?  155 

Come,  bring  me  where  they  are.  [Exeunt. 

147.  Jirstlings]  JirstlingY^^^.  153.     /;/»*  f«]  om.  Johns,  conj.  Steev. 

148.  JirstHngs]  firstling  Rowe  ii.  No...fool;'\  om.  as  spurious,  end- 

149.  be  it\  be't  Pope,  +,  Dyce  ii,  ing  lines  153,  154,  </(i7...jt^>i/r/  and  read- 
Huds.  ii.  ing  Where, ..are  as  prose.  Anon.* 

thought^  thoght  F,.  154.     this  purpose']  thi purpose  Hzxi, 

152.  unfortunate']  th*  unfortunate  155.  sights]  flights  Sing,  ii  (Sing. 
Heath.                                                             MS),  Coll.  ii  (MS). 

145.  flighty  purpose]  Heath  (p.  401).  Unless  the  execution  keep  even  pace 
with  the  purpose,  the  former  will  never  overtake  the  latter,  the  purpose  will  never  be 
completed  in  the  actual  performance. 

Clarendon.  For  the  general  sense  see  All's  Well,  V,  iii,  40. 

o'ertook]  Clarendon.  *  O'erta'en '  is  used  in  All's  Well,  IH,  iv,  24. 

153.  trace]  Heath  (p.  401).  Those  that  may  be  traced  up  to  one  common  stock 
from  which  his  line  is  descended,  or,  all  his  collateral  relations. 

Steevens.  That  is,  follow,  succeed  in  it.     [Dyce, 

Clarendon.  *  Trace '  is  used  in  the  sense  of  *  follow  in  another's  track,*  as  here, 
in  Ham.,  V,  ii,  125;  and  i  Hen.  IV:  HI,  i,  47. 

in  his]  Abbott  (J  497).  That  trice  him  |  in  his  {in's)  line.  | 

155.  sights]  Collier  (iVi?/<fj,  &c.,  p.  413).  [The  (MS)  xt2id&  flights.]  That  is, 
he  will  take  care  by  the  rapidity  with  which  performance  shall  follow  decision,  that 
nobody  shall  again  have  an  opportunity  of  taking  flight.  The  compositor  mistook 
the  /  for  a  long  j,  and  omitted  to  notice  the  /  which  followed  it. 

Singer  (Sh,  Find.,  p.  257).  This  is  a  good  correction,  and  is  evidently  supported 
by  what  precedes.  It  had  not  escaped  the  (MS)  of  my  F,,  who  has  altered  fi  to^, 
and  inserted  i  above. 

Blackwood's  Magazine  (Oct.,  1853,  p.  461).  [The  emendation  of  the  (MS)  is 
not]  without  some  show  of  reason.  .  .  .  But,  on  the  other  hand,  Macbeth,  a  minute 
before  [lines  138,  139],  has  been  inveighing  against  the  witches.  So  that  *  no  more 
sights '  may  mean,  I  will  have  no  more  dealings  with  infernal  hags  [who  have  just 
been  showing  him  a  succession  of  sights, — apparitions :  the  last  of  which  drew  from 
him  the  exclamation,  *  Horrible  sight .^ — Dyce],  The  word  *  But'  seems  to  be  out 
of  place  in  connection  with  *  flights ' — and  therefore  we  pronounce  in  favor  of  the  old 
reading. 

19 


2 1 8  MA  CBETH.  [act  iv.  sc.  ii 

Scene  II.    Fife,    A  Room  in  Macduff's  castle. 

Enter  Lady  Macduff,  her  Son,  and  Ross. 

L,  Macd,     What  had  he  done,  to  make  him  fly  the  land  ? 

Scene  ii.]  Scene  hi.  Pope, +.  Wife...  Ff. 

Fife...]    Cap.  Macduff's  Castle.  I.    L.  Macd.]  Rowe.  Wife.  Ff  (and 

Rowe.  Macduff  *s  Castle  at  Fife.  Theob.  throughout). 

Enter ]    Rowe.    Enter  Macduffes 

White  (Sh.^s  Scholar,  p.  405).  We  should  unquestionably  read  Jli^hts. 

Dyce.  In  my  opinion,  the  word  '  But '  makes  not  a  little  against  the  new  lection. 

White.  *  Sights  *  of  the  Ff  seems  to  be  very  clearly  a  misprint-  of  *  sprights,*  the 
most  common  spelling  of  that  word  in  Sh.'s  day,  and  that  which  is  almost  invariably 
used  in  the  folio.  As,  for  instance,  in  III,  v,  27,  which  announce  the  very  visions 
that  Macl>eth  has  just  seen,  and  to  which  he  refers.  See  also  this  passage  in  Com- 
menius's  Ga/e  of  the  Latine  Tongue  Unlocked,  1656:  *Evill  Spririts,  when  they  ap- 
pear in  the  person  of  som  man  that  dyed  evilly,  are  called  Ghosts,  [*  Larva ' ;]  when 
they  terrifie  men  at  other  times  Sprits  \^  Spectra. ^'\^  p.  307.  But  in  the  edition  of 
the  same  work  in  1685  this  passage  affords  an  example  of  the  very  misprint  in  ques- 
tion: 'when,  they  otherwise  affright  folk,  sights  J  p.  326. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  Grant  White  prints  'sprites,* — most  unhappily,  I  think. 

Halliwell.  I  cannot  bring  myself  to  confide  in  the  accuracy  of  the  text.  Grant 
White's  emendation  is  doubtful. 

Clarendon.  To  us  the  text  seems  unquestionably  right. 

Scene  ii.]  Fletcher  (p.  166).  It  mars  the  whole  spirit  and  moral  of  the  play,  to 
take  anything  from  that  depth  and  liveliness  of  interest  which  the  dramatist  has  at- 
tached to  the  characters  and  fortunes  of  Macduff  and  his  Lady.  They  are  the  chief 
representatives,  in  the  piece,  of  the  interests  of  loyalty  and  domestic  affection,  as  op- 
posed to  those  of  the  foulest  treachery  and  the  most  selfish  and  remorseful  ambition. 
...  It  is  not  enough  that  we  should  hear  the  story  in  the  brief  words  in  which  it  is 
related  to  Macduff  by  his  fugitive  cousin,  Ross.  The  presence  of  the  affectionate 
family  before  our  eyes, — the  timid  lady's  eloquent  complaining  to  her  cousin  of  her 
husband's  deserting  them  in  danger, — the  graceful  prattle  of  her  boy,  in  which  she 
seeks  relief  from  her  melancholy  forebodings, — and  then  the  sudden  entrance  of 
Macbeth's  murderous  ruffians, — arc  all  requisite  to  give  that  crowning  horror,  that 
consummately  and  violently  revolting  character  to  Macbeth's  career,  which  Sh.  has  so 
evidently  studied  to  impress  upon  it.  Nothing  has  more  contributed  to  favor  the  false 
notion  of  a  certain  sympathy  which  the  dramatist  has  been  supposed  to  have  excited 
for  the  character  and  fate  of  this  most  gratuitously  criminal  of  his  heroes,  than  the 
theatrical  narrowing  of  the  space,  and  consequent  weakening  of  the  interest,  which 
his  unerring  judgement  has  assigned  in  the  piece  to  those  representatives  of  virtue 
and  humanity,  for  whom  he  has  really  sought  to  move  the  sympathies  of  his  audi- 
ence. It  is  no  fault  of  his  if  Macbeth's  heartless  whinings  have  ever  extracted  one 
emotion  of  pity  from  reader  or  auditor,  in  lieu  of  that  intensely  aggravated  abhor- 
rence which  they  ought  to  inspire. 

Bodenstedt.  To  omit  this  scene,  as  is  usually  the  case  on  the  stage,  is  to  present 
Macbeth's  character  in  tf  far  more  favorable  light  than  Sh.  intended,  and  to  weaken 


ACT  IV.  sc.  ii.]  MACBETH.  ^       219 

Ross,    You  must  have  patience,  madam. 

Z.  Macd.  He  had  none : 

His  flight  was  madness:  when  our  actions  do  not, 
Our  fears  do  make  us  traitors. 

Ross.  You  know  not 

Whether  it  was  his  wisdom  or  his  fear.  5 

Z.  Macd,     Wisdom  1  to  leave  his  wife,  to  leave  his  babes, 
His  mansion  and  his  titles,  in  a  place 
From  whence  himself  does  fly  ?     He  loves  us  not ; 
He  wants  the  natural  touch :  for  the  poor  wren, 
The  most  diminutive  of  birds,  will  fight,  lO 

Her  young  ones  in  her  nest,  against  the  owl. 
All  is  the  fear  and  nothing  is  the  love ; 
As  little  is  the  wisdom,  where  the  flight 
So  runs  against  all  reason. 

Ross,  My  dearest  coz, 

I  pray  you,  school  yourself:  but,  for  your  husband,  15 

He  is  noble,  wise,  judicious,  and  best  knows 

10.     diminutive]  diminitiveY^.  di'  14.     dearest] dear' st'Dyctn^Yiyxds.W, 

miniuive  F^.  co%]   Rowe.     Cooz  F,F,.     Couz 

14.     My... coz]  Dearest  cousin  Pope,  ^3^4* 

lian.     My  dearest  cousin  1\i^oh,^zib,  10.     He  is]  He's  Pope,  +,  Dyce  ii, 

Johns.  Huds.  ii. 

the  force  of  Macduff's  cry  of  agony,  and  Lady  Macbeth's  heart-piercing  question  in 
the  sleep-walking  scene.  We  must  be  made  to  see  how  far  Macbeth's  unavailing 
bloodthirstiness  reaches,  which  spares  not  even  innocent  women  and  children. 
Moreover,  in  this  tragedy  of  hypocritical  treachery  and  faithless  ambition,  Macduff 
and  his  wife  are  the  exponents  of  honest  loyalty  and  domestic  virtue. 

Clarendon.  The  scene  of  the  murder  of  Lady  Macduff  and  her  children  is  tra- 
ditionally placed  at  Dunne-marle  Castle,  Culross,  Perthshire. 

DUPORT.  Cette  sc^ne  devrait  offrir  le  plus  haut  degr6  de  path^tique :  c*est  le  chef- 
d'oeuvre  du  ridicule.  Qu'on  imagine,  apr^s  la  belle  sc^ne  oti  Athalie  interroge  I'en- 
fant,  Josabeth  jouant  k  pigeon-vole  avec  Joas,  on  aura  une  idie  de  la  conversation  de 
lady  Macduff  et  de  son  fils. 

4.  traitors]  Stebvens.  Our  flight  is  considered  as  an  evidence  of  our  treason. 

Seymour.  The  treachery  alluded  to  is  Macduff's  desertion  of  his  family. 

9.  touch]  Johnson.  Natural  sensibility.  He  is  not  touched  with  natural  affection. 

[See  III,  ii,  26,  where,  in  a  note  on  Cym.,  I,  i,  135,  Staunton  points  out  a  differ- 
ent  use  of  this  word.  Ed.] 

wren]  Harting  (Ornithology  of  SA.,  p.  143).  There  are  three  statements 
here  which  are  likely  to  be  criticised  by  the  ornithologist.  First,  that  the  wren 
is  the  smallest  of  birds,  which  is  evidently  an  oversight.  Secondly,  that  the  wren 
has  sufficient  courage  to  fight  against  a  bird  of  prey  in  defence  of  its  young,  which 
is  doubtful.     Thirdly,  that  the  owl  will  take  young  birds  from  the  nest. 


220  MACBETH,  [act  iv,  sc.  ii. 

The  fits  o'  the  season.     I  dare  not  speak  much  further : 

But  cruel  are  the  times,  when  we  are  traitors 

And  do  not  know  ourselves ;  when  we  hold  rumour 

From  what  we  fear,  yet  know  not  what  we  fear,  20 

But  float  upon  a  wild  and  violent  sea 

Each  way  and  move.     I  take  my  leave  of  you : 

17.     The  fits  £?']  Wliat  fits  or  That  rumour,  and  yet  Becket. 

fits  Anon.*  21.    float  upon']  floating  on  Jackson. 

season]  time  Pope,  Han.  22.     jEath.^move.]  Each  way,  and 

19.     know]  hnow't  HsLU.  Coll.  (MS).  move — Johns.  And  move  each  way .  Cap, 

know  it  Ktly.  And  each  way  move.  Steev.  conj.  El- 

19,20.     we  hold  rumour we]  we  win,  Hal.  Ktly.    Each  wail  and  moan, 

bode  ruin. ..we  or  the  bold  running., .they  Jackson.     Which  way  we  move.  Ingleby. 

Johns,  conj.  And  move  each  wave.  Anon.*     Each 

rumour,... f ear t  yet]  fear  From  way  it  moves.  Daniel. 

17.  fits]  Heath.  What  befits  the  season. 

Steevens.  The  violent  disorders  of  the  season,  its  convulsions;  as  in  Cor.  HI, 

ii»  33- 

Singer.  We  still  say  figuratively  the  temper  of  the  times. 

Clarendon.  The  critical  conjunctures  of  the  time.  The  figure  is  taken  from  the 
fits  of  an  intermittent  fever. 

19.  know  ourselves]  Upton  (p.  322).  That  is,  to  be  traitors. 

Singer  (ed.  2).  I  incline  to  think  Hanmer's  reading  right. 

hold  rumour]  Heath.  To  interpret  rumour. 

Steevens.  To  believe,  as  we  say  *  I  hold  such  a  thing  to  be  true  ;*  i.  e.,  I  take  it,  I 
believe  it  to  be  so.  The  sense  then  is.  When  we  are  led  by  our  fears  to  believe 
every  rumour  of  danger  we  hear,  yet  are  not  conscious  to  ourselves  of  any  crime 
for  which  we  should  be  disturbed  with  those  fears.     Thus  in  King  John,  IV,  ii,  145. 

Delius.  To  *  hold  rumour '  is  contrasted  with  to  *  know  *  in  the  next  line. 

Dalgleish.  When  we  accept  or  circulate  rumours,  because  we  fear  them  to  be 
true. 

Clarendon.  It  is  uncertain  whether  this  very  difficult  expression  means  '  when 
we  interpret  rumour  in  accordance  with  oui  fear,'  or  *  when  our  reputation  is  de- 
rived from  actions  which  our  fear  dictates,*  as  Lady  Macduff  has  said  in  lines  3,  4, 
*  When  our  actions  do  not.  Our  fears  do  make  us  traitors.'  See  the  use  of  '  From ' 
in  III,  vi,  21. 

Hudson  (ed.  2).  Fear  makes  us  credit  rumour,  yet  we  know  not  what  to  fear, 
because  ignorant  when  we  offend.  A  condition  wherein  men  believe  the  more  be- 
cause they  fear,  and  fear  the  more  because  they  cannot  foresee  the  danger. 

22.  Each  .  .  .  move]  Theobald  (Nichols,  Lit.  Illust.,  ii,  529).  It  would  be 
something  of  a  wonder  had  they  floated  and  not  moved.  Sure,  this  is  a  reading  too 
flat  for  our  Author.  I  read  '  Each  way  and  wave^  i.  e.,  they  not  only  float  backward 
and  forward,  but  are  the  sport  of  each  distinct  and  particular  wave ;  which  exagger- 
ates the  thought. 

Heath.  The  order  of  the  words  intended  by  Sh.  is,  But  float  and  move  each  way 
upon  a  wild  and  violent  sea. 

Elwin.  The  reading  of  the  Folio  actually  implies  a  motion  contrary  to  that  which 
the  metaphor  so  pointedly  indicates,  which  is.  That  men,  being  troubled  in  their 


ACT  IV,  sc.  ii.]  MA CBETH.  22 1 

Shall  not  be  long  but  I'll  be  here  again : 

Things  at  the  worst  will  cease,  or  else  climb  upward 

To  what  they  were  before. — My  pretty  cousin,  25 

Blessing  upon  you ! 

L.  Macd.     Father'd  he  is,  and  yet  he's  fatherless. 

Ross,     I  am  so  much  a  fool,  should  I  stay  longer, 
It  would  be  my  disgrace  and  your  discomfort : 
I  take  my  leave  at  once.  \Exit, 

L,  Macd,  Sirrah,  your  father  s  dead :  30 

And  what  will  you  do  now  ?     How  will  you  live  ? 

Son,     As  birds  do,  mother. 

23.  Shall^  ^  T  shall  Yi'xxi,  Sing,  ii,  lines  end /^/...y^^/ — ... disgrace, ...discotn- 
Coll.  ii  (MS).     It  shall  Ktly.  fort.  Walker. 

26-29.     Blessing,. .. .discomfort :'\   the  27.     Rowe.     Two  lines,  Ff. 

thoughts  by  the  violence  and  uncertainty  which  surround  them,  alternate  in  their 
purposes  this  way  and  that,  as  upon  the  waters  of  a  troubled  sea.  This  is  the 
action,  instead  of  a  forward  motion  which  and  move  suggests.  Minsheu's  meaning 
o{  float  is,  to  wave  up  and  down. 

GuizoT.  II  est  cependent  certain  qu'arrfit^s  par  un  bruit  vague  dont  nous  ne  con- 
naissons  pas  la  source,  et  ne  sachant  pas  de  quel  c0t6  nous  devons  agir,  nous  ajoutons 
^  rincertitude  des  iv^nements  celle  de  nos  propres  volont^s;  c'est  ce  que  Sh.  a  dQ 
et  voulu  exprimer. 

Clarendon.   The  passage,  as  it  stands,  is  equally  obscure  whether  we  take 

*  move  *  as  a  verb  or  a  substantive,  and  no  one  of  the  emendations  suggested  seems 
to  us  satisfactory.  The  following,  which  we  put  forward  with  some  confidence, 
yields,  by  the  change  of  two  letters  only,  a  good  and  forcible  sense :  *  Each  way, 
and  none.'  That  is,  we  are  floating  in  every  direction  upon  a  violent  sea  of  uncer- 
tainty, and  yet  make  no  way.     We  have  a  similar  antithesis,  Mer.  of  Ven.,  I,  ii,  65  : 

*  He  is  every  man  in  no  man.* 

Hudson  (ed.  2).  *  Move*  is  for  movement  or  motion, 

Staunton  {The  Athenaum,  19  October,  1872).  Surely  we  should  read  'Each 
sway*  a  word  peculiarly  appropriate  here.  In  the  same  sense  of  expressing  the 
saving  and  motion  of  agitated  water,  it  occurs  in  Chapman's  *  Tragedy  of  Charles 
Duke  of  Byron  * :  *  And  as  in  open  vessels  fill'd  with  water.  And  on  mens  shoul- 
ders borne.  ...  To  keep  the  wild  and  slippery  element.  From  washing  over;  follow 
all  his  Swayes^  &c. 

30.  Sirrah]  Malone.  Not  always  a  term  of  reproach,  but  sometimes  used  by 
masters  to  servants,  parents  to  children,  &c.     See  III,  i,  44. 

[Also  used  as  an  address  to  women.  See  Ant.  &  Cleop.,  V,  ii,  229.  And  B.  & 
F.,  Knight  of  Malta,  I,  ii  (vol.  v,  p.  115,  ed.  Dyce),  and  lb.  Wit  at  Several  Wea- 
pons, II,  ii  (vol.  iv,  p.  34,  ed.  Dyce),  also  Westward  Ho,  I,  ii  (Webster's  Works, 
vol.  iii,  p.  23,  ed.  Dyce),  where  the  Editor  sajrs :  *  In  the  north  of  Scotland  I  have 
frequently  heard  persons  in  the  lower  ranks  of  life  use  the  word  "Sirs,"  when  speak- 
ing to  two  or  three  women.*  Pronounced  sSr^rd  by  Sheridan,  Nares,  Scott,  Ken- 
rick,  Perry,  Walker,  Jones,  and  Knowles.     See,  also,  Abbott,  II,  iii,  138.  Ed.] 

32.  birds]  Lamartine.  Cette  sublime  et  candide  riponse  de  1*  enfant  avant  celle 


222  MACBETH.  [act  iv,  sc.  ii. 

Z.  Macd,  What,  with  worms  and  flies  ? 

Son,     With  what  I  get,  I  mean ;  and  so  do  they. 

L,  Macd,     Poor  bird !  thou'ldst  never  fear  the  net  nor  lime, 
The  pitfall  nor  the  gin.  35 

Son,     Why  should  I,  mother  ?     Poor  birds  they  are  not  set  for. 
My  father  is  not  dead,  for  all  your  saying. 

L.  Macd,     Yes,  he  is  dead :  how  wilt  thou  do  for  a  father  ? 

Son,     Nay,  how  will  you  do  for  a  husband  ? 

L,  Macd,     Why,  I  can  buy  me  twenty  at  any  market.  40 

Son,     Then  you'll  buy  *em  to  sell  again. 

L,  Macd,     Thou  speak'st  with  all  thy  wit,  and  yet,  1*  faith. 
With  wit  enough  for  thee. 

Son,     Was  my  father  a  traitor,  mother  ? 

L.  Macd.     Ay,  that  he  was.  45 

Son,     What  is  a  traitor  ? 

L,  Macd,     Why,  one  that  swears  and  lies. 

Son,     And  be  all  traitors  that  do  so  ? 

32.  with\  on  Pope,  + .  Cap. 

33.  Wi'M]  a«  Pope, +.  38.  Rowe.     Two  lines,  Ff. 
/»i^tf«]  om.  F^FjF^,  Pope,  Han.  do'\  do  ncno  Cap. 

34.  Theob.     Two  lines,  Ff.  41.  buy'\  by  F,F,. 

lime\  line  F,F,F^,  Pope,  Cap.  42,  43.     and  yet.., thee. '\  Pope.     One 

35-43.     The„,thee,\  Lines  end  moth-  line  in  Ff,  Cap.  Jen.  Coll.  Huds.  Sing. 

er  ?„.,father' 5„,dead :„,Nayt„,buy  me.,,  ii,  Del.  White,  Ktly. 
buy^em.,.wit ;,..thee.  Cap.  48.     5of'\  so.  F^F^. 

36.  Pope.     Two  lines,  Ff.  48,  49.     And. ..one']  One  line,  Ktly. 

37.  My  father  w]  But  my  father^ s 

dc  Racine  AviXis  Athalie :  *Aux  petits  des  oiseaux  il  donne  la  pAtiire '  Tigale  et  la 
surpasse,  car  elle  ne  diclarae  pas. 

34.  lime]  Capell  (Notes,  ii,  24).  Line  (i.  e.,  a  line  with  a  noose  in  it)  accords 
better  with  the  other  terms,  expressive  of  instruments,  not  modes,  of  bird-catching, 
which  the  other  word  ['  lime ']  indicates. 

36.  they]  Delius.  *  They '  is  merely  a  repetition  of  *  Poor  birds.' 
Clarendon.  It  may  be  doubted  whether  the  word  *  they '  refers  to  the  various 

traps  just  mentioned,  reading  *  Poor  birds '  as  the  objective  case  following  *  set  for,' 
or  whether  it  is  a  repetition  of  *  Poor  birds,*  taken  as  a  nominative,  as  in  IV,  iii,  11, 

'What  you  have  spoke,  it *.     In  either  case  the  emphasis  is  on  *  Poor,'  and  the 

meaning  is  that  in  life,  traps  are  not  set  for  the  poor,  but  for  the  rich.    The  boy's  pre- 
cocious intelligence  enhances  the  pity  of  his  early  death. 

37.  for]  Abbott  (§  154).  We  still  retain  the  use  oi  for  in  the  sense  of  in  spite  of, 
as  in  for  all  your  plots  I  will  succeed,'  &c.  [This  passage  is  cited  under  the  second 
meaning  of  *  for,'  (in  opposition  to) :  hence  *to  prevent.*  For  the  first  meaning  see 
III,  i,  120,  and  note.  Ed.] 

47.  swears  and  lies]  Clarendon.  Swears  allegiance  and  perjures  himself.  The 
boy  afterwards  uses  the  words  in  the  ordinary  sense. 


ACT  IV,  sc.  ii.]  MA  CBETH.  223 

Z.  Macd,  Every  one  that  does  so  is  a  traitor,  and  must  be 
hang'd.  5^ 

Son,     And  must  they  all  be  hang'd  that  swear  and  lie? 

L,  Macd.     Every  one. 

Son,     Who  must  hang  them? 

L,  Macd.     Why,  the  honest  men.  54 

Son.  Then  the  liars  and  swearers  are  fools;  for  there  are 
liars  and  swearers  enow  to  beat  the  honest  men  and  hang  up 
them. 

Z.  Macd,  Now,  God  help  thee,  poor  monkey  I  But  how  wilt 
thou  do  for  a  father?  59 

Son,  If  he  were  dead,  you  'Id  weep  for  him :  if  you  would 
not,  it  were  a  good  sign  that  I  should  quickly  have  a  new 
father. 

Z.  Macd,     Poor  prattler,  how  thou  talk'st ! 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Mess,     Bless  you,  fair  dame !  I  am  not  to  you  known. 
Though  in  your  state  of  honour  I  am  perfect.  65 

I  doubt  some  danger  does  approach  you  nearly : 
If  you  will  take  a  homely  man's  advice, 
Be  not  found  here ;  hence,  with  your  little  ones. 
To  fright  you  thus,  methinks  I  am  too  savage ; 

49»  50.     Prose,  Pope.   Two  lines,  Ff.  63.     L.  Macd.]  Son.  F,. 

54.     the\  om.  FjF^,  Pope,  Han.  68,  69.     ones,       TcJkus^     Theob. 

56.     enow\  enough  Han.  Cap.  Steev.  ones:  To^Jhus^'FJF^^,  ones  To,., thus, 

Var.  Sing.  Knt  i,  Huds.  Del.  Ktly.  F,. 

58.     Now^  om.  F^,  +.  69.    too  savage']  to  savage  F,. 
58,  59.     Prose,  Pope.    Two  lines,  Ff. 

56.  enow]  Clarendon.  Used  with  plural  nouns,  as  *  enough  *  with  singular. 

57.  up  them]  Clarendon.  For  similar  transposition  see  Rom.  &  Jul.,  IV,  ii,  41 ; 
Rich.  H:  I,  iii,  131. 

58.  monkey]  See  Rom.  &  Jul.,  II,  i,  16,  and  notes.  Ed. 

65.  perfect]  Steevens.  I  am  perfectly  acquainted  with  your  rank  of  honour. 

Clarke.  <  State  of  honour '  we  think  includes  the  sense  of  distinguished  condition 
as  a  lady  of  honourable  nature,  no  less  than  as  a  lady  of  honourable  station.  The 
man  sees  her  in  her  own  castle,  and  knows  her  to  be  its  lady  mistress ;  but  he  also 
seems  to  know  that  she  is  a  virtuous,  a  kind,  a  good  lady  as  well  as  a  noble  lady,  and 
therefore  comes  to  warn  her  of  approaching  danger. 

69.  To  fright]  Abbott  (J  356).  To  was  originally  used  not  with  the  infinitive, 
but  with  the  gerund  in  -^,  and,  like  the  Latin  *  ad*  with  the  gerund,  denoted  a  pur- 
pose.    Thus  *  to  love*  was  originally  */<?lovene,'  i.  e.  *  to  {or  toward)  loving*  (ad 


224  ^^  C^^  TH.  [act  IV,  sc.  u. 

To  do  worse  to  you  were  fell  cruelty,  70 

Which  is  too  nigh  your  person.     Heaven  preserve  you ! 

I  dare  abide  no  longer.  \Exit, 

L,  Macd.  Whither  should  I  fly  ? 

I  have  done  no  harm.  But  I  remember  now 
I  am  in  this  earthly  world,  where  to  do  harm 
Is  often  laudable,  to  do  good  sometime  75 

Accounted  dangerous  folly :  why  then,  alas, 

70.     worse  to you^  Uss^  to  you  Han.  73.     I  have]  Pve  Pope, +,Dyce  ii, 

less  to  you.  Cap.  Huds.  ii. 

72.     [Exit.]  Exit  Messenger.  Ff.  74.     I  am]  Pm  Pope,   +,  Sing,  ii, 

Whither]  Whether  F,F,,  Dav.  Dyce  ii,  KUy,  Huds.  ii. 

amandum).  Gradually  as  to  superseded  the  proper  infinitival  inflection,  to  was  used 
in  other  and  more  indefinite  senses,  *  for,'  *  about,'  *  in,'  *  as  regards,*  and,  in  a  word, 
for  any  form  of  the  gerund  as  well  as  for  the  infinitive.  Thus  in  the  present  passage, 
it  is  not  *too  savage  to  fright  you,'  but  ^in  or  y^r  frighting  you.'  So  in  V,  ii,  23, 
*  blame  His  pester'd  senses  to  recoil  and  start,*  i.  e.  *  for  recoiling.*  *  To '  frequently 
stands  at  the  beginning  of  a  sentence  in  the  same  indefinite  signification.     See  II, 

",  73. 

70.  worse]  Warburton.  We  should  read  « To  do  worship  to  you,'  &c.    That  is, 

but  at  this  juncture  to  waste  my  time  in  the  gradual  observances  due  to  your  rank, 

would  be  the  exposing  your  life  to  immediate  destruction. 

Johnson.  To  do  worse  is  to  let  her  and  her  children  be  destroyed  without  warning. 

Edwards  (p.  74).  That  is,  to  fright  you  more,  by  relating  all  the  circumstances 
of  your  danger ;  which  would  detain  you  so  long,  that  you  could  not  avoid  it. 

Heath  (p.  402).  This  messenger  was  one  of  the  murderers  employed  by  Macbeth 
to  exterminate's  Macduff's  family,  but  who,  from  emotions  of  pity  and  remorse,  had 
outstripped  his  companions,  to  give  timely  warning  of  their  approach. 

70.  fell]  Clarendon.  Florio  gives  *FeIlo,  fell,  cruel,  moodie,  inexorable,  fello- 
nious,  murderous.'     Hence  *  fellone,'  a  felon.     See  Twelfth  Night,  I,  i,  22. 

72.  Whither]  Lettsom  (ap.  Dyce,  ed.  2).  The  context  requires  *  Why.* 

See  I,  iii,  in. 

Abbott  (§  493).  A  proper  Alexandrine  with  six  accents  is  seldom  found  in  Sh. 
(J  494).  In  V,  iv,  6,  *  The  nCim  |  bers  6f  |  our  hdst  |  and  make  |  discovery''  (dis- 
cov'ry),  we  have  an  Alexandrine  only  in  appearance.  The  last  foot  contains,  in- 
stead of  one  extra  syllable,  two  extra  syllables,  one  of  which  is  slurred.  [A  term 
phonetically  unintelligible  to  me — Ellis.  Early  Eng.  Pronunciation y  Part  iii,  p. 
944.]  (J  496).  In  other  cases  the  appearance  of  an  Alexandrine  arises  from  the 
non-observance  of  contractions :  *  I  dire  |  abide  |  no  Idnger  |  Whither  should  |  I 
fly?'     So  in  V,  iii,  5 :  *  All  m6rt  |  al  cdnse  \  quence(s)  hive  |  pron6unced  |  me  thus.' 

Ellis.  These  *  contractions '  would  have  a  remarkably  harsh  effect  in  the  instances 
cited,  even  if  they  were  possible.  No  person  accustomed  to  write  verses  could  well 
endure  lines  thus  divided  [as  above.  In  the  present  instance]  the  line  belongs  to 
two  speeches  and  'should*  may  be  emphatic.  ...  I  should  be  sorry  to  buy  immu- 
nity from  Alexandrines  at  the  dreadful  price  of  such  Procrustean  '  scansion.' 

75.  sometime]  See  I,  vi,  11. 


ACT  IV.  sc.  ii.]  MA  CBETH,  2  2 5 

Do  I  put  up  that  womanly  defence, 
To  say  I  have  done  no  harm  ? — 

Enter  Murderers. 

What  are  these  faces  ? 

First  Mur.     Where  is  your  husband  ? 

Z.  Macd.     I  hope,  in  no  place  so  unsanctified  80 

Where  such  as  thou  mayst  find  him. 

First  Mur,  He*s  a  traitor. 

Son,     Thou  liest,  thou  shag-hair*d  villain ! 

First  Mur.  What,  you  egg  I 

Young  fry  of  treachery !  [Stabbing  him. 

Son.  He  has  kill'd  me,  mother : 

78.  To  say. .. faces  ?']Ont\\nt,'RovrG.  82.  j^rt-^-^^itV^]  Steev.  conj.  Huds. 
Two,  Ff,  Sing.  ii.                                              Sing,  ii,  Dyce,  Del.  Sta.  White,  Hal. 

I  have"]    I  had  F^FjF^.     /»  ad  Ktly,  Glo.  Cla.  shagge-ear' dY ^ ^,  shag- 

Pope,  Han.    /V  Theob. +.  /'z/^  Dyce  eardY^.     shag-ear' d  Y^Gi  cti. 

ii,  Huds.  ii.  [Stabbing  him.]  Rowe.  om.  Ff. 

79.  First  Mur.]  Cap.    Mur.  Ff.  83.     He  has']  He  *  as  Voi^^ -^ , 

78.  faces]  Clarke.  Theimpressivesimplicityof  this  expression  contains  horrible 
significance  as  to  the  effect  produced  upon  the  speaker  by  the  grim  visages  of  the 
cut-throats  as  they  enter  her  presence,  and  causing  us  to  behold  them  through  her 
words  in  their  full  menace  of  aspect. 

80.  81.  so... Where]  For  similar  relatival  constructions  see  Abbott  (J  279). 

81.  mayst]  For  other  instances  of  what  would  be  called  an  unpardonable  mistake 
in  modern  authors  (though  a  not  uncommon  Shakespearian  idiom),  see  Abbott 

(?4I2). 

82.  8hag-hair*d]  Steevens.  An  abusive  epithet  very  often  used  in  our  ancient 
plays.     See  2  Hen.  VI :  HI,  i,  367. 

Malone.  In  King  John,  V,  ii,  133,  we  find  *  vn-heard,*  for  *  unhair'd.*  Hair  was 
formerly  written  heare.  In  Lodge's  Incarnate  Devils  of  the  Age^  1596,  p.  37f  we 
find  '  shag-heard  slave.' 

Reed.  In  23  Car.  I,  Ch.  Justice  Rolle  said  it  had  been  determined  that  these 
words, '  Where  is  that  long-locked,  shag-haired^  murdering  rogue  ?*  were  actionable. — 
Aleyn's  Reports^  p.  61. 

Dyce  {Hemarhs,  &c.,  p.  201).  King  Midas,  after  his  decision  in  favour  of  Pan,  is 
the  only  human  being  on  record  to  whom  the  epithet  [shag-ear*d]  could  be  applied. 

Collier  (ed.  2).  *  Shag-ear'd '  is  a  villain  who  is  shaggy  about  the  ears,  by  reason 
of  his  long  hair.     Such  is  the  word  in  the  Ff,  and  we  decline  to  make  any  alteration. 

White.  Shag-hair  seems  to  have  meant  somewhat  more  than  merely  dishevelled 
hair.  *  For  covering  they  have  either  hair  or  shag-hair, — Pro  integumento  habent 
vel  pilos  vel  villos,^ — Gate  of  the  Latine  Tongue  Unlocked ^  1656,  p.  46. 

Dyce  (ed  2).  Of  the  many  examples  which  might  be  adduced  of  *  hear  *  for « hair,^ 
I  subjoin,  *  But  now  in  dust  his  beard  bedaubd,  his  hear  with  blood  is  clonge.' — 
Phaer's  Virgil's  yEneidos,  Bk  ii,  sig.  C  vii,  ed.  1584.  •  We  straight  his  burning  hear 
gan  shake,  all  trembling  dead  for  dreede.* — Id,  sig.  D  v. 

P 


226 


MACBETH. 


[act  rv,  sc.  iii. 


Run  away,  I  pray  you  ! 


\Dics, 

\Exit  Lady  Macduff,  crying  *  Murder !' 

Exeunt  murderers,  follozving  her 


Scene  III.     England.    Before  the  King's  palace* 
Enter  Malcolm  and  Macduff. 

MaL     Let  us  seek  out  some  desolate  shade,  and  there 
Weep  our  sad  bosoms  empty. 

Macd,  Let  us  rather 

Hold  fast  the  mortal  sword,  and  like  good  men 
Bestride  our  down-fall'n  birthdom  :  each  new  morn 


84.     I  pray]  pray  Pope,  + . 

[Dies.]  Cap.    om.  Ff. 

[Exit...]  Glo.    Exit  L.  Macduff, 
crying  Murther ;  Murtherers  pursue  her. 
Theob.  + .     Exit  crying  Murther.  Ff. 
Scene  iil]  Scene  iv.  Pope,  + ,  Jen. 

England.  Before...]  Dyce,  Sta. 
Glo.  Cam.  Cla.  The  King  of  England's 
Palace.  Rowe,  + .  A  Room  in  Edward 
the  Confessor's  Palace.  Cap.     England. 


Steev.   England.   A  Room  in  the  King's 
Palace.  Mai.  et  cet. 

4.  down-fallen"]  Mai.  downfaln 
Johns.  Warb.  Jen.  downfall  F^F^F^, 
Pope  ii.  downfal  F^,  Dav.  Rowe, 
Pope  i,  Theob.  Han.     down-fall  Cap. 

birthdom]  Dav.  birthdome  F^F^ 
Fj.  birth-dome  F^.  birth-doom  Pope, 
Theob.  Han.  Warb. 


84.  Coleridge  (i,  250).  This  scene,  dreadful  as  it  is,  is  still  a  relief,  because  a 
variety,  because  domestic,  and  therefore  soothing,  as  associated  with  the  only  real 
pleasures  of  life.  The  conversation  between  Lady  Macduff  and  her  child  heightens 
the  pathos,  and  is  preparatory  for  the  deep  tragedy  of  their  assassination.  ...  To  the 
objection  that  Sh.  wounds  the  moral  sense  by  the  unsubdued,  undisguised  description 
of  the  most  hateful  atrocity, — that  he  tears  the  feelings  without  mercy,  and  even  out- 
rages the  eye  itself  with  scenes  of  insupportable  horror, — I,  omitting  Titus  Androni- 
cus,  as  not  genuine,  and  excepting  the  scene  of  Gloster's  blinding  in  King  Lear, 
answer  boldly  in  the  name  of  Shakespeare,  not  guilty. 

Scene  iii.]  Clarendon.  The  poet  no  doubt  felt  that  this  scene  was  needed  to 
supplement  the  meagre  parts  assigned  to  Malcolm  and  Macduff. 

French  (p.  293).  The  present  Earl  of  Fife,  James  Duff,  1868,  who  is  also  Vis- 
count Macduff,  is  lineally  descended  from  the  Macduff  of  the  play. 

4.  birthdom]  Johnson.  Our  birthdom,  or  birthright,  says  he,  lies  on  the  ground  ; 
let  us,  like  men  who  are  to  fight  for  what  is  dearest  to  them,  not  abandon  it,  but  stand 
over  it  and  defend  it.  This  is  a  strong  picture  of  obstinate  resolution.  So,  Falstaff 
says  to  Hal :  •  If  thou  see  me  down  in  the  battle,  and  bestride  me,  so.' — i  Hen.  IV : 
V,  i,  121.  Birthdom  for  birthright  is  formed  by  the  same  analogy  with  masterdom 
m  this  play,  signifying  the  privileges  or  rights  of  a  master.  Perhaps  it  mij^ht  be  /'/>///- 
dame  for  mother ;  let  us  stand  over  our  mother  that  lies  bleeding  on  the  ground. 

Steevens.  See  2  Hen.  IV:  I,  i,  207.     Dyce  (Glossary).  Birthright. 

Clarendon.  'Birthdom'  is  formed  on  the  analogy  of  'kingdom,'  'earldom,' 
'masterdom,'  I,  v,  68,  with  this  difference,  that  *king,'  *  earl,'  'master,'  designate 
persons,  and  'birth  '  a  condition ;  the  termination  *  -dom  '  is  connected  with  •  doom,' 


ACT  IV,  SC.  iii.]  MA  CBETH,  2  2  7 

New  widows  howl,  new  orphans  cry,  new  sorrows  5 

Strike  heaven  on  the  face,  that  it  resounds 
As  if  it  felt  with  Scotland  and  yell'd  out 
Like  syllable  of  dolour. 

MaL  What  I  believe,  I'll  wail ; 

What  know,  believe ;  and  what  I  can  redress, 
As  I  shall  find  the  time  to  friend,  I  will.  10 

What  you  have  spoke,  it  may  be  so,  perchance. 
This  tyrant,  whose  sole  name  blisters  our  tongues. 
Was  once  thought  honest :  you  have  loved  him  well ; 
He  hath  not  touched  you  yet.     I  am  young ;  but  something 

• 

8.    syllable\  syllables  Pope,  + ,  Cap. 
14.     I  atn^  Pm  Pope,  +,  Dyce  ii,  Huds.  ii. 


and  'kingdom*  signifies  the  extent  of  a  king's  jurisdiction.  It  loses  its  original 
force  when  joined  to  adjectives,  as  in  *  freedom,'  *  wisdom,'  &c.,  and  is  then  equiva- 
lent to  the  German  -heit^  in  Weisheity  Freiheit^  our  *  -hood.'  *  Birthdom '  here  does 
not,  as  we  think,  signify  *  birthright,'  but  *  the  land  of  our  birth,'  now  struck  down 
and  prostrate  beneath  the  usurper's  feet. 

GuizoT  translates :  *  Marchons  \  grands  pas  vers  notre  patrie  abattue,'  and,  in  a 
note,  upholds  his  translation  of  *  bestride.' 

6.  face]  Clarendon.  A  somewhat  similar  hyperbole  occurs  in  Temp.,  I,  ii,  4; 
again,  Mer.  of  Yen.,  II,  vii,  45.  We  have  also  *  the  face  of  heaven'  in  Rich.  Ill : 
IV,  iv,  239;  *the  cloudy  cheeks  of  heaven'  in  Rich.  II:  III,  iii,  57.  The  sun  is 
called  *  the  eye  of  heaven '  in  I,  iii,  275,  and  *  the  searching  eye  of  heaven '  in  III, 
ii,  37  of  the  same  play. 

that]  See  I,  ii,  59. 

8.  syllable]  Clarendon.  A  single  cry,  the  expression  of  grief  of  each  new 
widow,  and  orphan,  is  in  each  case  re-echoed  by  heaven. 

10.  to  friend]  Staunton.  The  expression  *to  friend,*  meaning propilious,  asstsi- 
ant y  favourable^  &c.,  occurs  again  in  Cymb.,  I,  iv,  116,  and  in  Jul.  Caes.,  Ill,  i,  143. 
It  is  not  uncommon  in  our  old  poets.  Thus,  in  Spenser's  Fairy  Queen f  Bk  i,  1,  28 : 
*  So  forward  on  his  way  (with  God  lo  frend)  He  passed  forth ;'  and  also  in  Massin- 
ger's  The  Roman  Actor^  I,  i,  *  the  gods  to  friend,^ 

Craik  (p.  283,  Note  on  Jul.  Caes.,  Ill,  i,  143).  Equivalent  \o  for  friend.  S<t  we 
say  To  take  to  wife.  In  German :  Das  tvird  mich  zu  eurem  Freunde  machm. 
[Note  by  Rolfe:  Conf.  Matthew  iii,  9,  Luke  iii,  8:  *  We  have  Abraham  to  our 
father,  &c.] 

Clarkndon.  Compare  All's  Well,  V,  iii,  182.     For  the  construction  see  Temp., 

Ill,  iii,  54  :  * Destiny  That  hath  to  instrument  this  lower  world.'     The  verb  is 

used  in  Hen.  V:  IV,  v,  17.     *  At  friend'  occurs  in  Wint.  Tale,  V,  i,  140. 

Abbott  (§  189).  To^  from  meaning  *  like,'  came  ifto  the  meaning  of  *  representa- 
tion,' *  equivalence,'  '  apposition.*     (Comp.  Latin  *  Habemus  Deum  amico.') 

11.  What]  For  the  use  of  what  as  a  relative  see  Abbott  {\  252). 
14.  touch'd]  See  III,  ii,  26.  Ed. 


228  MACBETH,  [act  iv,  sc.  iil 

You  may  deserve  of  him  through  me;  and  wisdom  15 

To  offer  up  a  weak,  poor,  innocent  lamb 
To  appease  an  angry  god. 

Macd,     I  am  not  treacherous. 

Mai.  But  Macbeth  is. 

A  good  and  virtuous  nature  may  recoil 

15.     ddserve]  Theob.     discerne  F^F^.  and  wisdom  Uwere  Ktly. 
discern  F^F^,  Dav.  Rowe,  Pope,  Cap.  16.     To  offer\  *Tis  /'  offer  Nichol- 

Clarke.  son.* 
and  wisdom]  */is  wisdom  Han. 

15.  deserve]  Theobald.  If  the  whole  Tenour  of  the  Context  could  not  have 
convinced  our  blind  Editors  that  we  ought  to  read  deserve  instead  of  discern  (as  I 
have  corrected  the  Text),  yet  Macduff's  Answer,  sure,  might  have  given  them  some 
Light, — *I  am  not  treacherous.^ 

Upton  (p.  314)  prefers  *  discern,*  and  explains  it:  'You  may  see  something  to 
your  advantage  by  betraying  me.* 

15.  wisdom]  Heath.  That  is,  *and  *tis  wisdom.'  [So  also  Capell,  anticipat- 
ing Collier.  Ed.] 

M.  Mason.  There  is  no  verb  to  which  wisdom  can  refer.  Something  is  omitted. 
If  we  read,  *  and  think  it  wisdom,'  the  sense  will  be  supplied ;  but  that  would  de- 
stroy the  metre. 

Steevens.  I  suspect  this  line  has  suffered  by  interpolation,  as  well  as  omission, 

and  that  it  originally  ran  thus :  * but  something  You  may  deserve  through  me ; 

and  wisdom  is  it,  &c. 

Staunton.  One  more  of  the  innumerable  passages  in  this  great  play  which  has 

suffered  by  mutilation  or  corruption.     We  ought,  perhaps,  to  read, ' and  wisdom 

'/  /J,'  or  * and  wisdom  bidsJ* 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  Lettsom  proposes  'and  wisdom  Would  offer  up;'  &c.,  but  I  see 
no  objection  to  *  and  wisdom,'  an  elliptical  expression  for  *  and  it  is  wisdom.' 

Keightley.  a  syllable  is  plainly  lost. 

Clarke.  If  the  original  word  '  discern '  be  retained,  we  have  the  sense  of  the 
passage  unimpaired,  thus :  *  I  am  young,  but  something  you  may  perceive  of  Mac- 
beth in  me  [Malcolm  has  stated  that  Macbeth  *  was  once  thought  honest,'  and  after- 
wards taxes  himself  with  vices],  and  also  you  may  perceive  the  wisdom  of  offering 
up,*  &c.,  thus  gaining  the  verb  before  *  wisdom '  that  the  commentators  miss.  It  may 
be  advisable  to  mention  that  we  made  this  restoration  in  the  text  when  preparing  our 
ed.  of  Sh.  for  America  in  i860. 

Clarendon.  There  is  certainly  some  corruption  of  the  text  here.  Perhaps  a 
whole  line  has  dropped  out. 

Adbott  (§  402,  403)  explains  this  as  an  instance  of  the  ellipsis  of  the  nomina- 
tive:  * and  (it  is)  wisdom.* 

Hudson  (ed.  2).  You  may  purchase,  or  secure,  his  favor  by  sacrificing  me  to  his 
malice ;  and  to  do  so  would  be%n  act  of  worldly-wisdom  on  your  part,  as  I  have  no 
power  to  punish  you  for  it. 

19.  recoil]  Johnson.  A  good  mind  may  recede  from  goodness  in  the  execution 
of  a  royal  commission. 


ACT  IV.  sc.  iii.]  MA  CBETH.  229 

In  an  imperial  charge.     But  I  shall  crave  your  pardon ;  20 

That  which  you  are,  my  thoughts  cannot  transpose : 
Angels  are  bright  still,  though  the  brightest  fell : 
Though  all  things  foul  would  wear  the  brows  of  grace, 
Yet  grace  must  still  look  so. 

Macd,  I  have  lost  my  hopes. 

Mai.  Perchance  even  there  where  I  did  find  my  doubts.  25 
Why  in  that  rawness  left  you  wife  and  child, 

20.     Bui... crave]  I  crave  Pope, +.  24.     I  have\  /V^  Pope,  +,Dyceii, 

But  Urave  Steev.  Lettsom.  Huds.  ii. 

23.  wear'\  bear  F^,  Warb.  Johns.  25.     Rowe.     Two  lines,  Ff. 

24.  still  lookl  look  still  Theob.  ii,  26.  child]  childeY^,  children  Y^Y^ 
Warb.  Johns.  F^,  + ,  Cap.  Jen.  Rann. 

Elwin.  a  metaphorical  adaptation  of  the  idea  of  resistance  being  borne  down  by 
the  charge  of  an  imperial  army. 

Clarendon.  Here  used,  not  in  its  usual  sense  of  rebounding  on  the  removal  of 
pressure,  but  meaning  to  yield,  give  way,  swerve.  So  also  V,  ii,  23.  Compare 
Cymb.,  I,  vi,  128.  Perhaps  Sh.  had  in  his  mind  the  recoil  of  a  gun,  which  suggested 
the  use  of  the  word  *  charge,*  though  with  a  different  signification.  Compare  2  Hen. 
VI :  HI,  ii,  331 1  * like  an  overcharged  gun,  recoil  And  turn  the  force,*  &c. 

20.  crave]  Walker  {Crit.  i,  77).  *Pray  you,  *  beseech  you,  are  frequent  in  Sh. 
(I  remember  also  *  crave  you  in  one  of  his  plays,  I  forget  where.)  [Lettsom,  in  a 
foot  note,  cites  this  passage.  Ed.]     In  line  28,  write,  metri  gratia,  ^ Pray  you, 

23.  would]  See  I,  vii,  34. 

24.  so]  Johnson.  My  suspicions  cannot  injure  you,  if  you  be  virtuous,  by  sup- 
posing that  a  traitor  may  put  on  your  virtuous  appearance.  I  do  not  say  that  your 
virtuous  appearance  proves  you  a  traitor ;  for  virtue  must  wear  its  proper  form,  though 
that  form  be  counterfeited  by  villainy. 

Dalgleish.  Though  foul  things  may  look  fair,  fair  things  cannot  look  fairer. 
Clarendon.  Compare  Meas.  for  Meas.,  II,  i,  297. 

25.  doubts]  Delius.  That  is,  in  this  meeting  at  the  English  Court,  so  surprising 
to  Malcolm,  and  so  discouraging  to  Macduff. 

Ci>ARENDON.  Macduff  had  hoped  that  he  should  be  received  by  Malcolm  with  full 
confidence.  Failing  this,  all  his  hopes  of  a  successful  enterprise  against  the  tyrant 
are  gone.  Malcolm  replies :  *  Your  disappointment  is  due  to  your  own  conduct  in 
leaving  your  wife  and  children,  which  has  given  rise  to  distrust  in  my  mind.* 

Hudson  (ed.  2).  Macduff  claims  to  have  fled  his  home  to  avoid  the  tyrant's  blow; 
yet  he  has  left  his  wife  and  children  in  the  tyrant's  pyower ;  this  makes  the  Prince 
distrust  his  purpose,  and  suspect  him  of  being  a  secret  agent  of  Macbeth.  And  so 
the  Prince  says,  *  Perhaps  the  cause  which  has  destroyed  your  hopes  is  the  very  same 
that  leads  me  to  distrust  you ;  that  is,  perhaps  you  have  hoped  to  betray  me ;  which 
is  just  what  I  fear.* 

26.  rawness]  Johnson.  Without  previous  provision,  without  due  preparation, 
without  maturity  of  counsel.     {Diet, — )  In  that  hasty  manner. 

Clarendon.  Compare  Hen.  V :  IV,  i,  147.    So  Tennyson,  « Raw  Haste,  half- 
sister  to  Delay.* — \^L€rve  thou  thy  land.^'\ 
20 


2 30  MA  CBETH.  [act  iv,  sc.  iii. 

Those  precious  motives,  those  strong  knots  of  love, 

Without  leave-taking  ?     I  pray  you, 

Let  not  my  jealousies  be  your  dishonours, 

But  mine  own  safeties.     You  may  be  rightly  just,  30 

Whatever  I  shall  think. 

Macd,  Bleed,  bleed,  poor  country : 

Great  tyranny,  lay  thou  thy  basis  sure. 
For  goodness  dare  not  check  thee :  wear  thou  thy  wrongs ; 
The  title  is  afleer'd. — Fare  thee  well,  lord  : 

2S.     WithouC]    Without  so  much  as        Sing.  Coll.  Huds.  Sta.  Del,  White,  Glo. 

Anon.*  Cam.  Qa.      His  Pope,  +.     Thy  Mai. 

I  pray  you"]  om.  Pope,  Han.    O  g^  c^j 
Macduff  /pray you  Knon*  *    ^^^^^-j    Han.     affcar'd  YJ^. 

33.  dare-]  F.F  Dav  Cap  Dyce,  Sta.  j^^^  p^  ^  ^  j^^  ^^,  ^^^^  ^^^^^^ 
Ktly,  Glo.  Cam.  Cla.    ^ar«  FjF^,  et  cet.  p^      ^^^^^^   p^^   ^^^     ^^^^.^   ^^^^ 

thou"]  y  F,F,.  .  affcered  Ktly. 

34.  The'\  Ff,  Dav.  Rowe,  Cap.  Jen.  Fare\  Far  F,. 

27.  motives]  Delius.  Frequently  applied  by  Sh.  to  persons.  Perhaps  here, 
like  *  knots,*  it  is  to  be  connected  with  *  of  love,*  although  it  is  perfectly  intelligible 
by  itself. 

28.  Dyce  (ed.  2).  This  line  seems  to  be  faulty  not  from  the  redundant  */,*  but 
from  the  omission  of  some  word  or  words. 

Abbott  (J  512)  considers  *I  pray  you,*  as  a  short  interjectional  line  by  itself;  and 
(J  511)  that  the  pause  after  *  leave-taking '  may  be  explained  by  the  indignation  of 
Macduff,  which  Malcolm  observes,  and  digresses  to  appease. 

29.  jealousies]  Delius.  The  plural  indicates  the  repeated  occasions  for  his  sus- 
picion, to  which  the  arrival  of  messengers  from  Scotland  gives  rise,  not  merely  his 
present  feelings  towards  Macduff.  And  this  plural  occasioned  the  two  others :  *  dis- 
honours '  and  *  safeties.' 

30.  safeties]  Abbott  (§  454).  An  extra  syllable  is  frequently  added  before  a 
pause,  especially  at  the  end  of  a  line,  as  in  Ham.,  I,  ii,  77;  but  also  at  the  chd  of 
the  second  foot,  as  here,  '  For  mine  |  own  skfetics  \  ;'  and,  less  frequently,  at  the  end 
of  the  third  foot,  as  in  line  33,  *  For  g6od  |  ness  dires  |  not  ch6ck  thcc  [  ;'  and, 
rarely,  at  the  end  of  the  fourth  foot,  see  Temp.,  I,  ii,  127. 

34.  affeer'd]  Pope.  A  law  term  for  confirmed. 

Heath  {^Rcvisal^  &c.,  p.  403).  A  law  term  which  signifies  estimated,  proportioned, 
adjusted ;  not  confirmed.  It  is  used  here  in  its  common  acceptation,  for  affrightened. 
Malcolm's  title  to  the  crown  is  affrightened  from  asserting  itself;  or,  in  plainer 
English,  He  is  affrightened  from  asserting  his  title  to  the  crown. 

ToLLET.  Poor  country,  wear  thou  thy  wrongs,  the  title  to  them  is  legally  settled 
by  those  who  had  the  final  judication  of  it. 

RiTSON.  To  affeer  is  to  assess,  or  reduce  to  certainty.  All  amerciaments  are  by 
Magna  Charta  to  be  affeered  by  lawful  men,  sworn  to  be  impartial.  This  is  the  ordi- 
nary practice  of  a  Court  Leet,  with  which  Sh.  seems  to  have  been  intimately  ac- 
quainted, and  where  he  might  have  occasionally  acted  as  an  affcerer. 

Singer.  Addressing  Malcolm,  Macduff  says,  *  Wear  thou  thy  wrongs, — the  title  ft 


ACT  IV.  sc.  m.]  MA  CBETH,  2  3 1 

I  would  not  be  the  villain  that  thou  think'st  35 

For  the  whole  space  that's  in  the  tyrant's  grasp, 
And  the  rich  East  to  boot. 

Mai.  Be  not  offended : 

I  speak  not  as  in  absolute  fear  of  you. 
I  think  our  country  sinks  beneath  the  yoke ; 
It  weeps,  it  bleeds,  and  each  new  day  a  gash  40 

Is  added  to  her  wounds :  I  think  withal 
There  would  be  hands  uplifted  in  my  right ; 
And  here  from  gracious  England  have  I  offer 
Of  goodly  thousands :  but  for  all  this, 

When  I  shall  tread  upon  the  tyrant's  head,  45 

Or  wear  it  on  my  sword,  yet  my  poor  country 
Shall  have  more  vices  than  it  had  before, 
More  suffer  and  more  sundry  ways  than  ever, 
By  him  that  shall  succeed. 

Macd.  What  should  he  be  ? 

35.     think'st']  think'st  me  Ktly.  44.     Of]   Of  aid  of  Ktly. 

44.     [Showing  a  paper.]  Coll.  ii.  but"]  But  yet  Han. 

thy  crown  is  now  confirmed — *  to  the  usurper  he  would  probably  have  added,  but 
that  he  interrupts  himself  with  angry  impatience,  at  being  suspected  of  traitorous 
double-dealing. 

Knight.  Macduff  continues  to  apostrophise  'great  tyranny,*  'wear  thou  thy 
wrongs  * — enjoy  thy  usurpation ;  wrongs  being  here  opposed  to  rights ;  the  title  is 
affeer'd — confirmed,  admitted. 

Collier.  Great  tyranny,  be  thou  confident,  for  goodness  dares  not  oppose  thee ; 
do  what  wrong  thou  wilt ;  thy  title  is  confirmed.  Perhaps  we  ought  to  read  Thy 
for*  The'. 

Elwin.  There  is  a  play  upon  the  word  *  affeer'd  *. 

Walker  [Crit.  i,  275).  Perhaps  we  should  read  assur'd^  or  affirmed,  Affeard 
may  have  originated  mfearej  five  lines  below. 

Dalgleish.  From  French  affeurer,  to  appraise,  fix  a  price  upon. 

Clarendon.  Confirmed.  In  Cowel's  Law  Diet,,  s.  v. :  *Affeerers  may  probably 
be  derived  from  the  French  affier,  that  is,  affirmare,  confirmare,  and  signifies  in  the 
common  law  such  as  are  appointed  in  Court-Leets,  upon  oath,  to  set  the  fines  on  such 
as  have  committed  faults  arbitrarily  punishable,  and  have  no  express  penalty  appointed 
by  statute.* 

47.  shall]  See  III,  iv,  57. 

48.  more  sundry]  See  I,  iii,  154. 

49.  should]  Abbott  (J  324).  Should  is  sometimes  used  as  though  it  were  the 
past  tense  of  a  verb  'shall,*  meaning  'is  to,*  not  quite  'ought.'  Compare  the  Ger- 
man *sollen.*  2  325.  Should  was  hence  used  in  direct  questions  about  the  past 
where  shall  was  used  about  the  future.  ...  It  seems  to  increase  the  emphasis  of  the 


232  MACBETH.  [ACT  iv,  sc.  iii. 

MaL     It  is  myself  I  mean :  in  whom  I  know  50 

All  the  particulars  of  vice  so  grafted 
That,  when  they  shall  be  open'd,  black  Macbeth 
Will  seem  as  pure  as  snow,  and  the  poor  state 
Esteem  him  as  a  lamb,  being  compared 
With  my  confineless  harms. 

Macd,  Not  in  the  legions  55 

Of  horrid  hell  can  come  a  devil  more  damn'd 
In  evils  to  top  Macbeth. 

Mai,  I  grant  him  bloody. 

Luxurious,  avaricious,  false,  deceitful, 
Sudden,  malicious,  smacking  of  every  sin 

That  has  a  name :  but  there's  no  bottom,  none,  60 

In  my  voluptuousness :  your  wives,  your  daughters. 
Your  matrons  and  your  maids,  could  not  fill  up 

57.     eviU'\  ills  Pope,  Han.  Cap.  59.     smacking]  smoaking  F,F  F^. 

Mai.]  F,,  Rowe.    Macb.  F^F^F^.  every\  each  Pope,  Han. 

interrogation,  since  a  doubt  about  the  past  (time  having  been  given  for  investigation) 
implies  more  perplexity  than  a  doubt  about  the  future. 

52.  open'd]  Collier  {Notcs^  &c.,  p.  414).  The  sense  afforded  by  'open'd*  is  so 
inferior  to  that  given  by  the  (MS)  that  we  need  not  hesitate  in  concluding  that  Sh., 
carrying  on  the  figure  suggested  by  *  grafted/  as  applied  to  fruit,  must  have  written 
*  ripen*d.* 

Singer  (Sh.  Vindicated^  &c.,  p.  257).  Ripened  is  inadmissible;  Mr  Collier  him- 
self sees  that  *  Malcolm  represents  these  particulars  of  vice  in  him  as  already  at  ma- 
turity.* 

Delius.  *Open*d*  carries  out  the  simile  of  'grafted.* 

57.  evils]  Walker  (Crit.  ii,  197).  */«  evils,*  apparently,  in  the  same  sense  as 
0th.  I,  i,  21 :  *  A  fellow  almost  damned  in  a  fair  life.*    Tomkins,  Albumazary  v.  1 1, 

Dodsley,  ed.  1825,  vol.  vii,  p.  193, —  * O  wonderful !  Admir'd  Albumazar  in  two 

transformations !'  admired  on  account  of  two  transformations  which  he  has  wrought. 
Perhaps  also,  I  Hen.  IV  :  V,  iv,  121,  is  in  point, — *  The  better  part  of  valour  is  dis- 
cretion ;  in  the  which  better  part  I  have  saved  my  life  ;*  through  which ^  by  reason  of 
which,  [See  also  the  same  article  for  instances  of  the  pronunciation  of  *  evil*  as  a 
monosyllable;  as  also  Abbott  (§  466).  Ed.] 

top]  Dyce  (Glossary).  To  rise  above,  to  surpass. 

58.  Luxurious]  Dyce  (Glossary).  Lascivious  (its  only  sense  in  Sh.). 
Clarendon.  Always,  as  here,  used  by  Sh.  in  the  sense  of  luxuriosus  in  patristic 

Latin,  and  the  French  luxurietix^  \.  e.  the  adjective  corresponding  to  luxure^  not 
luxe.  This  sense  of  the  word  is  now  obsolete.  In  the  modern  sense  we  find  it  as 
early  as  Beaumont  and  Fletcher,  and  in  Milton  it  has  always  either  the  modern 
sense,  or  that  of  *  luxuriant.* 

59.  Sudden]  Johnson.  Violent,  passionate,  hasty. 
Dyce  (Glossary),  Precipitately  violent. 


ACT  IV,  sc.  iii.]  MA  CBETH.  233 

The  cistern  of  my  lust,  and  my  desire 

All  continent  impediments  would  overbear, 

That  did  oppose  my  will :  better  Macbeth  6$ 

Than  such  an  one  to  reign. 

Macd,  Boundless  intemperance 

In  nature  is  a  tyranny ;  it  hath  been 
The  untimely  emptying  of  the  happy  throne, 
And  fall  of  many  kings.     But  fear  not  yet 

To  take  upon  you  what  is  yours :  you  may  70 

Convey  your  pleasures  in  a  spacious  plenty, 

63.  cistern]  Cesteme  F,F,.  66.     Boundless]  om.  Steev.  conj. 
66.     an]    Ff,   Dav,  +,  Jen.   Steev.            69.    And]  And''  Allen. 

(1773)*  Dyce,  Sta.  Hal.  Glo.  Cam.  Cla.  71.     Convey]  Enjoy  Sing,  ii,  Coll.  ii, 

a  Cap.  et  cet.  (MS). 

64.  continent]  Clarendon.  Restraining.  Comp.  Lovers  Lab.,  I,  i,  262;  in 
Lear,  III,  ii,  58,  the  word  is  found  as  a  substantive.  And  in  Mid.  N.  D.,  II,  i,  92, 
we  have  the  same  figure  which  is  used  in  the  present  passage. 

65.  better.. .reign]  Coleridge  (i,  251).  The  moral  is — the  dreadful  effects  even 
on  the  best  minds  of  the  soul-sickening  sense  of  insecurity. 

66.  an  one]  See  III,  iv,  131. 

67.  In  nature]  Delius.  This  belongs  to  •  tyranny  ;*  such  organic  intemperance 
is  compared  with  the  political  tyranny  of  Macbeth. 

Clarendon.  If  the  words  are  to  be  construed  according  to  Delius  we  should  in- 
terpret them  thus :  *  intemperance  is  of  the  nature  of  a  tyranny,*  remembering  Jul. 
Cijes.,  II,  i,  69,  *  The  state  of  man.  Like  to  a  little  kingdom,  suffers  then  The  nature 
of  an  insurrection.*  Or  we  may  join  *  intemperance  in  nature,'  and  interpret  *  want 
of  control  over  the  natural  appetites.*  The  former  seems  preferable.  In  any  case 
*  tyranny  *  here  means  *  usurpation,*  in  consequence  of  which  the  rightful  king  loses 
his  throne.     See  note  on  III,  vi,  22. 

71.  Convey]  Collier  (Notes,  p.  414).  Altered  by  the  (MS)  io  Enjoy,  When 
enjoy  was  written  enioy,  as  it  usually  was  of  old,  the  printer's  lapse  may  be  at  once 
explained. 

Singer  (Sk.  Vind.,  p.  258).  A  very  plausible  correction  of  a  probable  misprint, 
by  which  the  sense  is  improved. 

Blackwood's  Magazine,  (Oct.,  1853).  Punctuate  *  Convey  your  pleasures  in, — 
a  spacious  plenty,'  i.  e..  Gather  them  in, — an  abundant  harvest. 

Staunton.  *  Convey  *  occurs  in  precisely  the  same  sense  in  the  following :  •  But 
verily,  verily,  though  the  adulterer  do  never  so  closely  and  cunningly  convey  his  sin 
under  a  canopy,  yet,'  &c. —  Tke  Plain  Man^s  Pathway  to  Heaven,  1599-  And  it  is 
also  found  in  the  corresponding  passage  in  Holinshed.  [See  Appendix,  p.  368. 
Ed.] 

White.  We  know  that  in  the  slang  of  Sh.'s  day  it  meant  purloin.  But  the  line 
is  an  obscure  one  throughout,  yet  rather,  I  think,  from  want  of  care  in  the  writing, 
than  from  corruption  in  the  printing. 

Dyce  [Glossary),  To  manage  secretly  and  artfully. 
20* 


234  MACBETH,  [act  iv.  sc.  iii. 

And  yet  seem  cold,  the  time  you  may  so  hoodwink  • 

We  have  willing  dames  enough ;  there  cannot  be 

That  vulture  in  you,  to  devour  so  many 

As  will  to  greatness  dedicate  themselves,  75 

Finding  it  so  inclined. 

MaL  With  tliis  there  grows 

In  my  most  ill-composed  affection  such 
A  stanchless  avarice  that,  were  I  king, 
I  should  cut  off*  the  nobles  for  their  lands, 

Desire  his  jewels  and  this  other's  house :  80 

And  my  more-having  would  be  as  a  sauce 
To  make  me  hunger  more,  that  I  should  forge 
Quarrels  unjust  against  the  good  and  loyal, 
Destroying  them  for  wealth. 

Macd.  This  avarice 

Sticks  deeper,  grows  with  more  pernicious  root  85 

72.  coidt  the hoodwink  f^  Theob.        ii. 

cold.    The...hoodwinke :  Yi.     cold.    The  75.    greatness]  GreatntsseY^, 

...hoodwink^  Rowe.     cold:   the. ...hood-  83.     loyal]  royal  Vo^t. 

wink:  Pope,  Han.  Cap.  85.     Sticks']    Strikes    Theob.    conj. 

73.  IVe  have]  We've  Pope,  + ,  Dyce  Han.  Warb. 

72.  time]  See  I,  v,  61,  and  I,  vii,  81. 

hoodwink]  Dalgleish.  A  translation  of  Holinshed's  *that  no  man  shall  be 
aware  thereof.* 

Clarendon.  Perhaps  it  was  originally  a  term  of  falconry,  the  hawks  being  hooded 
in  the  intervals  of  sport.  In  Latham's  Falconry^  1615,  1618,  *  to  hood*  is  the  term 
used  for  the  blinding,  *  to  unhood,*  for  the  unblinding. 

74.  That]  Abbott  (\  277).  That  is  still  used  provincially  for  such  and  so: 
e.g.,  *  He  is  that  foolish  that  he  understands  nothing.*  So  Ham.,  I,  v,  48.  That 
is  more  precise  than  *  of  that  kind '  or  *  such.*  That^  meaning  *  such,'  is  used 
before  the  infinitive  where  we  use  the  less  emphatic  *  the.*  As  in  the  present 
instance. 

77.  ill-composed]  Clarendon.  We  have  the  opposite,  *  well-composed,'  in  Tro. 
and  Cress.,  IV,  iv,  79. 

82.  that]  See  I,  ii,  59. 

forge  Quarrels]  Rushton  (Sh.  Illust.  by  the  Lex  Scripta,  p.  87),  referring  to 
the  Statute  7  Hen.  IV,  cap.  vii,  directed  against  *  les  arrousmyths  qe  font  plusours 
testes  de  setes  &  quarelx  defectifs,*  adds  that  Malcolm  may  use  the  word  '  quarrel  * 
in  a  double  sense,  because  the  verbs  *  forge*  and  '  warrant*  might  be  applied  to  the 
*  quarrels  *  mentioned  in  this  statute,  as  well  as  to  the  word  in  its  more  usual  legal 
acceptation. 

85.  Sticks]  Theobald  (Nichols's  Lit.  III.,  ii,  530).  I  should  think  *  strikes 
deeper;*  a  tree,  or  plant,  is  said  by  gardeners  to  strike,  when  it  shoots  its  fibres  out 
deep  into  the  earth,  and  begins  to  feel  its  root. 


ACT  IV,  sc.  iii.]  MA  CBETH.  235 

Than  summer-seeming  lust,  and  it  hath  been 
The  sword  of  our  slain  kings :  yet  do  not  fear ; 

86.  sumni€r-seeming\  summer-teein-  seeding  Heath,  Steev.  Rann.  summer- 
ing Theob.  Han.  Warb.  Cap.    summer-        sinning  Jackson. 

86.  summer-seeming]  Theobald.  Summer-teeming^  i.  e.,  the  Passion,  which 
lasts  no  longer  than  the  Heat  of  Life,  and  which  goes  off  in  the  Winter  of  Age. 
Summer  is  the  season  in  which  Weeds  get  Strength,  grow  rank,  and  dilate  them- 
selves. 

Heath  (p.  404).  *  Summer-seeming  *  gives  a  very  apt  and  proper  sense;  that  is. 
Which  hath  no  other  inconvenience  than  that  of  an  extraordinary  heat  for  the  time, 
such  as  we  commonly  experience  in  summer,  and  which  is  of  no  long  duration. 
However,  as  the  integrity  of  the  metaphor,  which  is  taken  from  the  growth  of  a 
plant,  and  particularly  the  root  of  it,  is  not  well  preserved,  I  am  inclined  to  believe 
Sh.  wrote,  *  ^yimm^x-seeding ;^  i.  e.,  Than  lust,  which,  like  a  summer  plant,  runs  up  to 
seed  during  that  season,  and  quickly  afterwards  dies  away. 

[Steevens  in  1785  quoted  Blackstone  as  the  author  of  this  conjecture,  jk/ww^- 
seeding,  although  Heath  anticipated  the  latter  by  twenty  years.  Attention  was  called 
to  Heath's  claims  in  the  Anonymous  Variorum  edition  of  1807,  but  with  this  excep- 
tion, and  that  of  the  Cambridge  Editors,  every  editor  who  has  noticed  the  conjecture 
has  accorded  it  to  Blackstone.  I  have  been  unable  to  find  where  Steevens  obtained 
this  note  of  the  eminent  Justice's ;  it  is  not  in  the  list  published  by  The  Shakespeare 
Society  in  vol.  xii.  of  their  Papers.  Ed.] 

Johnson.  When  I  was  younger,  and  bolder,  I  corrected  it  thus :  *  Than  fume,  or 
seething  lust;'  i.  e.,  angry  passion  or  boiling  lust. 

Steevens.  Lust  that  seems  as  hot  as  summer. 

Malone.  In  Donne's  poems  [^Love's  Alchemy,'' — CLARENDON.]  we  meet  With 
*  vfinter-seeming.* 

Collier.  That  is,  probably,  *  summer-deseeming.* 

Elwin.  *  Summer-seeming '  not  only  signifies  that  lust  bears  a  fair  appearance  in 
and  to  the  summer  of  life  alone,  but  also  hints  at  the  delusive  character  of  vice,  in 
its  show  and  promise  of  joyousness. 

Hudson.  The  passion  that  bums  awhile  like  summer,  and  like  summer  passes 
away ;  whereas  the  other  passion,  avarice,  has  no  such  date,  but  grows  stronger  and 
stronger  to  the  end  of  life. 

Staunton.  We  are  unwilling  to  disturb  the  old  text,  though  we  have  a  strong 
persuasion  that  Sh.  wrote  *  s\xmmtT-seaming  lust,'  i.  e.,  lust  fattened  by  summer  heat. 

Clarendon.  Befitting,  or  looking  like,  summer.  Avarice  is  compared  to  a  plant 
which  strikes  its  roots  deep  and  lasts  through  every  season;  lust  to  an  annual  which 
flourishes  in  summer  and  then  dies. 

Allen  (MS).  We  should  (I  think)  write  thus:  This  avarice  Sticks  deeper — 
grows  with  more  pernicious  root — Than  summer- '//-^wi/ar^  lust.  Sh.  conceives  of 
Avarice  (*the  good  old-gentlemanly  vice'  of  Byron)  as  a  plant  of  Autumn  and 
Winter,  deeper  rooted,  more  lasting ;  of  Lust,  as  a  plant  of  Summer,  earlier  and 
more  rapid  in  its  growth,  but  less  enduring.  Lust  is,  therefore,  a  vice  that  naturally 
goes  with  (and  in  so  far  beseems)  Youth,  the  Summtr  of  life.  Seeming,  then,  is 
but  beseeming,  with  its  prefix  dropt,  as  in  rapid  or  familiar  conversation.  Sh.  so 
wrote  elsewhere.  It  may  be  added  that  the  idea  crops  out,  in  another  form,  a  few 
lines  below,  in  *  the  king-becoming '  graces. 


236  MACBETH.  [ACT  iv.  sc.  iii. 

Scotland  hath  foisons  to  fill  up  your  will 

Of  your  mere  own :  all  these  are  portable, 

With  other  graces  weigh'd.  90 

Mdl,     But  I  have  none :  the  king-becoming  graces, 
As  justice,  verity,  temperance,  stableness, 
Bounty,  perseverance,  mercy,  lowliness, 
Devotion,  patience,  courage,  fortitude, 

I  have  no  relish  of  them,  but  abound  95 

In  the  division  of  each  several  crime. 
Acting  it  many  ways.     Nay,  had  I  power,  I  should 
Pour  the  sweet  milk  of  concord  into  hell, 
Uproar  the  universal  peace,  confound 
All  unity  on  earth. 

Macd,  O  Scotland,  Scotland !  100 

Mai,     If  such  a  one  be  fit  to  govern,  speak : 
I  am  as  I  have  spoken. 

88.  foisons\  Foysons  F^F,.  Poisons  98.  Pour... hell '\  Sow* r... hate  Han. 
FjF^.    foison  Ktly.                                           Sour. ..hell  Jackson. 

89.  portable"]  bearable  H.  Rowe.  99.     Uproar]    Vprore  F^F^. 

88.  foisons]  Nares.  Plenty,  particularly  of  harvest.  Foison^  Fr.,  which  Menage 
and  others  derive  (rom /usio.     See  Du  Cange. 

Collier.  It  is  generally  used  in  the  singular. 

Clarendon.  The  word  is  still  used  in  the  south  of  England  for  the  juice  of 
grass,  and  in  Scotland  for  the  sap  of  a  tree. 

89.  mere]  See  IV,  iii,  152. 

91.  graces]  Staunton  {The  Alhencrum,  2  November,  1872).  Read  undoubt- 
ingly :  ^i/?J,  the  very  word  which  is  found  in  the  corresponding  dialogue  in 
Holinshed. 

92.  temperance]  Clarendon.  Self  restraint,  used  in  a  wider  sense  than  at 
present,  just  as  the  opposite,  *  intemperance,*  was  applied  to  immoderate  indulgence 
of  any  propensities. 

93.  perseverance]  White.  Here  accented  on  the  second  syllable. 
Clarendon.  *  Pers6ver'  in  Sh.  has  always  the  accent  on  the  second  syllable. 

95.  relish]  Clarendon.  Compare  the  use  of  sapere  in  Latin,  as,  e.g.,  Persius, 
Sat.  i,  1 1 :  *  Cum  sapimus  patruos.* 

98.  hell]  Staunton.  By  *  hell '  may  be  meant  confusion^  anarchy ^  disorder ;  and 
if  so,  we  ought  possibly  to  read,  *Sour  the  sweet  milk,'  &c. 

99.  Uproar]  Keightley.  As  it  may  be  doubted  if  there  is  such  a  verb  as  this, 
and  as  it  makes  little  sense,  I  would  read  Uproot^  or  Uptear. 

Dyce  (Glossary).  To  throw  into  confusion. 

Clarendon.  To  break  by  the  clamour  of  war.  Compare  the  German  aufruhren. 
We  have  no  example  of  this  verb  elsewhere.  Uprear  has  been  suggested  as  an 
emendation. 


ACT  IV,  sc.  iii.]  MA  CBETH,  237 

Macd.  Fit  to  govern ! 

No,  not  to  live. — O  nation  miserable ! 
With  an  untitled  tyrant  bloody-scepter'd, 

When  shalt  thou  see  thy  wholesome  days  again,  105 

Since  that  the  truest  issue  of  thy  throne 
By  his  own  interdiction  stands  accursed, 
And  does  blaspheme  his  breed  ? — Thy  royal  father 
Was  a  most  sainted  king :  the  queen  that  bore  thee, 
Oftener  upon  her  knees  than  on  her  feet,  1 10 

Died  every  day  she  lived. — Fare  thee  well ! 

102,  103.     Fit. miserable  !'\    Pope.  F^F^. 

One  line,  Ff.  iii.     lived"]  Cap.  /iW  Ff,  Dav.  +, 

107.  accursed"]  accurst  F^^F^F^.  ac-  Jen.  Mai.  Sing,  ii,  Dyce  i,  Del.  Sta. 
cust  F,.  White,  Ktly.   livid  Dyce  ii. 

109.     sainted  king]  Sainted- King  Y^  Fare]   Oh  fare  Pope,  +. 

104.  bloody- sceptered]  Delius.  This  is  in  apposition  to  *  nation  miserable.* 
106.  Since  that]  Abbott  (?  287).  Just  as  so  and  as  are  affixed  to  who  (whoso), 
when  (whenso),  where  (whereas,  whereso),  in  order  to  give  a  relative  meaning  to 
words  that  were  originally  interrogative,  in  the  same  way  that  was  frequently  affixed 
Gradually,  as  the  interrogatives  were  recognized  as  relatives,  the  force  o(  that,  so,  as, 
in  *  when  that*  *  when  so,*  *  when  as,*  seems  to  have  tended  to  make  the  relative 
more  general  and  indefinite ;  *  who  so  *  being  now  nearly  (and  once  quite)  as  indefi- 
nite as  *  whosoever.*  The  *ever*  was  added  wl^en  the  *so*  had  begun  to  lose  its 
force.  In  this  sense,  by  analogy,  that  was  attached  to  other  words,  such  as  *  if,* 
*  though,*  *  why,*  &c.  [And  in  this  case  *  since.*]  We  also  find  that  frequently 
affixed  to  prepositions  for  the  purpose  of  giving  them  a  conjunctival  meaning,  as  in 
IV,  iii,  185. 

108.  blaspheme]  Clarendon.  Slander;  the  original  sense  of  the  word.  Bacon, 
in  his  Advancement  of  Learning,  \,  2,  J  9,  uses  *  blasphemy  *  in  the  sense  of  *  slan- 
der*: *  And  as  to  the  judgement  of  Cato  the  Censor,  he  was  well  punished  for  his 
blasphemy  against  learning.*  And  in  the  Prayer-book  Version  of  Ps.  cxix,  42,  we 
find  *  blasphemers  *  for  *  slanderers.* 

109.  queen]  Wordsworth  {Sh.*s  Knowledge  and  Use  of  the  Bible,  p.  98, 1864). 
Sh.  seems  to  have  confounded,  whether  purposely  or  not,  the  character  of  Margaret, 
who  was  Malcolm's  wife,  with  that  of  his  mother, 

III.  Died]  M alone.  An  expression  borrowed  from  I  Cor.  xv,  31,  *  I  die  daily.* 

Delius.  This  refers  to  the  daily  mortification  of  the  flesh  by  castigation,  so  that 
she  only  lived  spiritually. 

Clarendon.  Every  day  of  her  life  was  a  preparation  for  death. 

Fare]  Walker  (  Vers.,  p.  139).  To  be  pronounced  as  a  dissyllable.  Certainly 
not  livid ;  Sh.  would  as  soon  have  made  died  a  dissyllable. 

Dyce  (ed.  i).  I  believe  Walker  is  right  as  regards  *  Fare.' 

White.  I  give  this  line  as  it  is  printed  in  Ff,  lacking  one  unaccented  syllable, 
because  I  believe  this  to  be  more  in  accordance  with  Sh.*s  free  versification  than  it 
would  be  to  make  *  lived  *  a  dissyllable.     At  the  same  time  I  cannot  agree  with  any 


238  MACBETH.  [ACT  iv.  sc.  iiL 

These  evils  thou  repeat'st  upon  thyself 

Have  banish'd  me  from  Scotland. — O  my  breast, 

Thy  hope  ends  here ! 

MaL  Macduff,  this  noble  passion, 

Child  of  integrity,  hath  from  my  soul  115 

Wiped  the  black  scruples,  reconciled  my  thoughts 
To  thy  good  truth  and  honour.     Devilish  Macbeth 
By  many  of  these  trains  hath  sought  to  win  me 
Into  his  power ;  and  modest  wisdom  plucks  me 
From  over-credulous  haste:  but  God  above  120 

Deal  between  thee  and  me !  for  even  now 
I  put  myself  to  thy  direction,  and  , 

Unspeak  mine  own  detraction;  here  abjure 
The  taints  and  blames  I  laid  upon  myself, 
For  strangers  to  my  nature.     I  am  yet  125 

113.     Have\  Rowe.     Hath  Ff. 

123.     detraction^  detractions  Cap.  conj, 

part  of  Walker's  objection  to  the  latter  arrangement.  Sh.  and  his  contemporaries 
made  both  [lived  and  died"]  dissyllables  or  monosyllables,  as  occasion  required. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  The  late  Mr  W.  W.  Williams  (see  The  Parthenon  for  Nov.  i,  1862, 
p.  849)  has  shown  that  Walker  is  wrong,  by  the  following  quotation  from  Jul.  Caes., 
Ill,  i,  257,  *  That  ever  liv^d  in  the  tide  of  times.' 

118.  trains]  Clarendon.  Artifices,  devices,  lures.  Cotgrave  gives  *  Traine :..  . 
a  plot,  practise,  conspiracie,  deuise ;'  and  *  Trainer :  to  weaue ;  also,  to  plot,  con- 
triue,  practise,  conspire,  deuise.'  Compare  I  Hen.  IV  :  V,  ii,  21 ;  and  Com.  of  Err., 
Ill,  ii,  45. 

Edinburgh  Review  (p.  343,  October,  1872).  A  technical  term  both  in  hawking 
and  hunting :  in  hawking,  for  the  lure,  thrown  out  to  reclaim  a  falcon  given  to  ramble, 
or  *rake  out,'  as  it  is  called,  and  thus  in  danger  of  escaping  from  the  fowler;  and  in 
hunting,  for  the  bait  trailed  along  the  ground,  and  left  exposed  to  tempt  the  animal 
from  his  lair  or  covert,  and  bring  him  fairly  within  the  power  of  the  lurking  hunts- 
man. Thus  Turberv'ile,  *  When  a  huntsman  would  hunt  a  wolfe,  he  must  trayne 
them  by  these  means  .  .  .  there  let  them  lay  down  their  traynes.  And  when  the 
wolves  go  out  in  the  night  to  prey  and  to  fcede,  they  will  crosse  upon  the  tyayiic?iX\i\ 

follow  it,'  &c.     Again,  * if  they  fayle  to  come  into  the  trayne,  then  let  him  send 

out  varieties  to  trayne  from  about  all  the  coverts,'  &c. 

123.  Unspeak]  Abbott  (§  442).  6/1- seems  to  have  been  preferred  by  Sh.  before 
p  and  r,  which  do  not  allow  in-  to  precede  except  in  the  form  of  im-.  In-  also 
seems  to  have  been  in  many  cases  retained  from  the  Latin.  As  a  general  rule,  we 
now  use  in-  where  we  desire  to  make  the  negative  a  part  of  the  word,  and  //;/-  where 
the  separation  is  maintained, — *i/«true,' *i;/firm.'  Hence  //;/-  is  always  used  with 
participles.  Perhaps  also  un-  is  stronger  than  in-.  '  6«holy  '  means  more  than  •  not 
holy,'  almost  *  the  reverse  of  holy.' 

125.  For]  This  passage  is  cited  by  Abbott  (§  148)  as  an  example  of  the  first 


ACT  IV,  SG  iii.]  MACBETH.  239 

Unknown  to  woman,  never  was  forsworn, 

Scarcely  have  coveted  what  was  mine  own, 

At  no  time  broke  my  faith,  would  not  betray 

The  devil  to  his  fellow,  and  delight 

No  less  in  truth  than  life :  my  first  false  speaking  130 

Was  this  upon  myself:  what  I  am  truly, 

Is  thine  and  my  poor  country's  to  command : 

Whither  indeed,  before  thy  here-approach. 

Old  Siward,  with  ten  thousand  warlike  men. 

Already  at  a  point,  was  setting  forth.  13S 

126.     woman\  women  F^F^F^,  Pope,  133.     here-approach'\  Hyphen,  Pope. 

Han.  134.     Siward'\  Theob.  Seyward  Ff. 

forsworn]  forswore  F^F^F^.  135.     Already]  AH  ready  Rowe, +, 

133.    IVhiiher]  F^F.F^,  Rowe.    mie-  Cap.  Jen.  Steev.  Var.  Sing,  i,  Knt  i. 

ther  F^.  forth.]  foorth  :  F,.   foorth  f  F,. 

thy]  they  F,,  Dav.  forth  ?  F^F^. 

meaning  oi  for  as  connected  with  *  as  being.'     See  also  HI,  i,  120.     For  the  second 
meaning  see  IV,  ii,  37. 

133.  here-approach]  For  instances  of  adverbial  compounds  see  Abbott  (J  429), 

134.  Clarendon.  Old  Siward,  son  of  Beorn,  Earl  of  Northumberland,  rendered 
great  service  to  King  Edward  in  the  suppression  of  the  rebellion  of  Earl  Godwin 
and  his  sons,  1053.  According  to  Holinshed,  p.  244,  col.  I,  who  follows  Hector 
Boece,  fol.  249,  b.,  ed.  1574,  Duncan  married  a  daughter  of  Siward.  Fordun  calls 
her  *  consanguinea.'  It  is  remarkable  that  Sh.,  who  seems  to  have  had  no  other  guide 
than  Holinshed,  on  this  point  deserts  him,  for  in  V,  ii,  2,  he  calls  Siward  Malcolm's 
uncle.  It  is  true  that  *  nephew  '  was  often  used  like  *  nepos,'  in  the  sense  of  grand- 
son, but  we  know  of  no  instance  in  which  *  uncle '  is  used  for  *  grandfather.' 

135.  point]  Warburton.  This  may  mean  *all  ready  at  a  time;*  but  Sh.  meant 
more  :  he  meant  both  time  and  place,  and  certainly  wrote :  *  All  ready  at  appoint — * 
i.  e.  at  the  place  appointed ,  at  the  rendezvous. 

Heath  (p.  405).  All  ready  provided  with  arms,  and  every  other  habiliment  of  war. 

Knight.  Is  it  not  at  a  particular  spot  where  they  had  collected — a  point  of  space  ? 

Arrowsmith  [N.  and  Qu.,  vol.  vii,  28  May,  1853).  Equivalent  to,  to  be  at  a 
stay  or  stop,  i.  e.  settled,  determined,  nothing  farther  being  to  be  said,  or  done :  a 
very  common  phrase.     [Various  instances  are  given  of  its  use  in  this  sense.  Ed.] 

Halliwell.  That  is,  prepared.  So  in  the  Tales  and  Quicke  Annueres,  very  mery, 
and  pleasant  to  Rede^  n.  d., — *  thy  matter  is  dispatched,  all  is  at  a  poynt,  there  resteth 
.    nothynge  but  to  gyve  me  my  wages  that  thou  promysyddest.' 

It  is  lost  labour  that  thou  doest ;  I  will  h^at  a  pointy 

And  to  injoyc  these  worldly  j eyes,  I  jeoparde  will  a  jo[i]nt. — 

The  Conflict  of  Conscience ^  by  N.  Woodes,  1581. 

Clarendon.  Resolved,  prepared.  For  this  somewhat  rare  phrase  compare  Foxe's 
Acts  and  MonumentSy  p.  2092,  ed.  1570:  *The  Register  there  sittyng  by,  beyng 
weery,  belyke,  of  tarying,  or  els  perceauyng  the  constant  Martyrs  to  be  at  a  pointy 
called  vpon  the  chauncelour  in  hast  to  rid  them  out  of  the  way.'     So  also  in  Bun- 


240  MACBETH,  [ACT  iv,  sc.  iii. 

Now  we'll  together,  and  the  chance  of  goodness  136 

136.     the  chance  of  ^  our  chance,  in  Han.     /he  chain  0/ Jackson. 

yan's  Life,  quoted  by  Mr  Wilton  Rix,  East  Anglian  Nonconformity j  Notes,  p.  vii: 
« When  they  saw  that  I  was  at  a  point  and  would  not  be  moved  nor  persuaded,  Mr 
Foster  told  the  justice  that  then  he  must  send  me  away  to  prison.*  Compare  Mat- 
thew's (1537)  translation  of  Is.  xxviii,  15  :  *  Tush,  death  and  we  are  at  a  poynte,  and 
as  for  hell,  we  haue  made  a  condycion  wyth  it;*  where  it  is  used  in  the  sense  of 
*  agreed.*  Florio  (s.  v.  Punto)  gives,  •  Essere  in  punto,  to  be  in  a  readinesse,  to  be 
at  a  point.*  *  At  point,*  without  the  article,  is  more  common,  as  Lear,  I,  iv,  347,  and 
III,  i,  33 ;  Ham.,  I,  ii,  200.     [See  Holinshed,  Appendix,  p.  362.  Ed.] 

136.  goodness]  Warburton.  May  the  lot  Providence  has  decreed  for  us  be 
answerable  to  the  justice  of  our  quarrel. 

Johnson  (1765).  If  there  be  not  some  more  important  error  in  the  passage,  it 

should  at  least  be  pointed  thus :  * and  the  chance,  of  goodness,  be  *  &c.     That 

is,  may  the  event  be,  of  the  goodness  of  heaven  {^pro  justitia  divina),  answerable  to 
the  cause. 

Heath  (p.  405).  And  may  the  success  of  that  goodness  which  is  about  to  exert 
itself  in  my  behalf,  be  such  as  may  be  equal  to  the  justice  of  my  quarrel. 

Johnson  (1773).  I  am  inclined  to  believe  that  Sh.  wrote  *  and  the  chance,  O  good- 
ness, Be,*  &c.  This  some  of  his  transcribers  wrote  with  a  small  0,  which  another 
imagined  to  mean  of.  The  sense  will  then  be,  *  and  O  thou  sovereign  Goodness,  to 
whom  we  now  appeal,  may  our  fortune  answer  to  our  cause.* 

H.  C.  K.  (N.  and  Qu,,  15  October,  1853,  p.  359).  The  radical  meaning  of  the 
word  detihe  is  to  lie  or  be  near,  to  attend ;  from  which  it  came  to  express  the  simple 
condition  or  state  of  a  thing.  Now  it  is  not  easy  to  see  why  Malcolm  should  wish 
that  'chance*  should  *be  like^  i.  e.  similar  to,  their  'warranted  quarrel;'  inasmuch 
as  that  quarrel  was  most  unfortunate  and  disastrous.  Surely  it  is  far  more  probable 
that  Sh.  wrote  belike  {belicgan^  g^^^gg^^)  ^^  o^e  word,  and  that  the  passage  means 
simply :  *  May  good  fortune  attend  our  enterprise.* 

Staunton.  This  passage  has  been  inexplicable  heretofore  from  *  Belike  *  being 
always  printed  as  two  words,  Be  like.  The  meaning  is, — And  the  fortune  of  good- 
ness approve  or  favottr  our  justifiable  quarrel. 

Delius.  *  CI  ance  of  goodness*  is  equivalent  to  'successful  issue,'  and  Mike'  is 
also  to  be  understood  in  connection  with  it: — may  the  issue  correspond  in  goodness 
to  our  good,  righteous  cause.  *  Chance  of  goodness  *  forms  one  idea  like  •  time  of 
scorn,'  0th.,  IV,  ii,  54  [and  as  in  Lear,  I,  iv,  306,  'brow  of  youth*  means  'youthful 
brow,'  and  in  Mer.  of  Ven.,  II,  viii,  42,  'mind  of  love*  means  'loving  mind.' — 
Clarendon], 

Bailey  (ii,  39)  proposes  'th*  chance  of  good  success  Betide  our'  &c.,  i.  e.  may  we 
be  successful  in  the  righteous  quarrel  in  which  we  are  engaged.  Chnftce  is  not  em- 
ployed to  denote  probability,  but  the  incident  of  fortune — good  success. 

Clarendon.  '  May  the  chance  of  success  be  as  certain  as  the  justice  of  our  quarrel.' 
The  sense  of  the  word  'goodness*  is  limited  by  the  preceding  '  chance'  Without 
this,  '  goodness  *  by  itself  could  not  have  this  meaning.  It  is  somewhat  similarly 
limited  and  defined  by  the  word  'night*  in  0th.,  I,  ii,  35:  'The  goodness  of  the 
night  upon  you,  friends!'  And  by  'bliss,'  Meas.  for  Meas.,  Ill,  ii,  227  :  *  Bliss  and 
goodness  on  you,  father.' 


ACT  IV,  sc.  ui.]  MACBETH,  241 

Be  like  our  warranted  quarrel !     Why  are  you  silent  ? 

Macd,     Such  welcome  and  unwelcome  things  at  once 
'Tis  hard  to  reconcile.  '  139 

Enter  a  Doctor. 

MaL     Well,  more  anon. — Comes  the  king  forth,  I  pray  you  ? 

Doct     Ay,  sir ;  there  are  a  crew  of  wretched  souls 
That  stay  his  cure :  their  malady  convinces 
The  great  assay  of  art ;  but  at  his  touch. 

Such  sanctity  hath  heaven  given  his  hand,  144 

They  presently  amend. 

Mai.  I  thank  you,  doctor.  [^Exit  Doctor. 

Macd,     What's  the  disease  he  means  ? 

Mai,  Tis  called  the  evil : 

137.     Be  like"]  Be-link  Jackson.  140.  Rowe.     Two  lines,  Ff. 

warranted"]   unwarranted  Cap.  145.  [Exit  Doctor.]  Cap.  Exit,  after 

(corrected  in  Errata.)  amend,  Ff,  Rowe,  +. 
140.    Scene  v.  Pope,  + . 

137.  warranted]  Clarendon.  'Justified,* 'assured.*    Comp.  All's  Well,  II,  v,  5. 

140.  Collier  {Notes,  &c.,  p.  415).  All  that  subsequently  passes  between  Malcolm, 
Macduff,  and  a  Doctor  is  struck  out  by  the  (MS.)  After  King  James's  death  it  was 
perhaps  omitted. 

Theobald  (Nichol's  Lit.  lUmt.,  ii,  623)  was  the  first  to  note  the  bearing  of  this  in- 
cident, as  well  as  the  reference  in  IV,  i,  121,  in  determining  the  date  of  this  play.  Ed. 

142.  convinces]  See  I,  vii,  64. 

Harry  Rowe.  One  of  my  puppets,  made  out  of  a  log  of  French  walnut-tree, 
contends  that  the  word  *  convince  *  is  derived  from  con  and  vainer e^  and  ought  to  be 
used  to  express  *  over-power,'  as  Sh.  has  done ;  but  my  other  gentlemen,  cut  out  of 
English  oak,  have  refused  to  permit  the  word  to  have  any  other  signification  than 
the  modern  English  one ;  and  it  is  in  obedience  to  their  opinion  that  I  have  substi- 
tuted defeats  for  *  convinces.' 

143.  assay]  Ed.  Cotgrave  gives :  'Vr^Mst:  i.  A  proo/e,  try  all,  essay,  experiment, 
experience.^  In  its  abbreviated  ^orn\,say,  it  is  found  in  Jonson,  The  Alchemist  (vol. 
iv,  p.  42,  ed.  Gifford) :  *  This  fellow  will  come,  in  time,  to  be  a  great  distiller.  And 
give  a  say  ...  at  the  philosopher's  stone.*  For  its  use  as  a  term  in  Venery,  see 
Nares,  s.  v. 

art]  Clarendon.  The  utmost  efforts  of  skilled  physicians  to  cure  it.  Sh.,  in 
using  this  phrase,  was  doubtless  thinking  of  an  *  assay  of  arms.'  In  Oth.,  I,  iii,  18, 
*  assay  of  reason '  rather  refers  to  the  assaying  or  testing  of  metals. 

144.  sanctity]  Anonymous.  Theobald,  with  some  plausibility,  supposes  that  Sh. 
wrote  sanity. 

[I  give  this  conjecture  of  Theobald's  on  the  authority  of  *  L.',  having  been  unable 
*o  find  it  elsewhere.     The  Cambridge  Edd.  have  no  note  of  it.  Ed.] 

146.  evil]  Reed  (1803).  Dr  Percy,  in  his  notes  on  The  Northumberland  Houshold 
21  Q 


242  MACBETH,  [ACT  rv.  sc.  iii. 

A  most  miraculous  work  in  this  good  king;  148 

Which  often,  since  my  here- remain  in  England, 

148.    here'remain\    Hyphen,   Pope.        Coll.  White,  Hal. 
here  remain   Theob.  ii,  Warb.   Johns. 

Book,  says,  *  that  our  ancient  kings  even  in  those  dark  times  of  superstition,  do  not 
seem  to  have  affected  to  cure  the  king's  evil. — This  miraculous  gift  was  left  to  be 
claimed  by  the  Stuarts ;  our  ancient  Plantagenets  were  humbly  content  to  cure  the 
cramp.'  In  this  assertion,  however,  the  learned  editor  of  the  above  curious  volume 
has  been  betrayed  into  a  mistake,  by  relying  too  implicitly  on  the  authority  of  Mr 
Anstis.  The  power  of  curing  the  king's  evil  was  claimed  by  many  of  the  Plantage- 
nets. Dr  Borde,  who  wrote  in  the  time  of  Henry  VHI,  says,  'The  kynges  of 
England  by  the  power  that  God  hath  given  to  them  dothe  make  sicke  men  whole 
of  a  sycknes  called  the  Kynge's  Evyll.^  In  Laneham's  Account  of  the  Entertain- 
ment at  Kenelworth  Castle,  it  is  said,  * and  also  by  her  highness  [Q.  Elizabeth] 

accustomed  mercy  and  charitee,  nyne  cured  of  the  peynful  and  dangerous  diseaz 
called  the  King's  Evil,  for  that  kings  and  queens  of  this  realm  without  oother 
medsin,  (save  only  by  handling  and  prayer)  only  doo  it.'  Polydore  Virgil  asserts 
the  same ;  and  Will.  Tooker,  in  the  reign  of  Queen  Elizabeth,  published  a  book  on 
this  subject,  an  account  of  which  is  to  be  seen  in  Dr  Douglas's  treatise,  entitled 
The  Criterion,  p.  191.  See  Dodsley's  Collection  of  old  Plays,  vol.  xii,  p.  428, 
ed.  1780. 

Clarendon.  The  reference,  which  has  nothing  to  do  with  the  progress  of  the 
drama,  is  introduced  obviously  in  compliment  to  King  James,  who  fancied  himself 
endowed  with  the  Confessor's  powers.  The  writer  found  authority  for  the  passage 
in  Holinshed,  vol.  i,  p.  279,  col.  2 :  *  As  hath  bin  thought  he  was  enspired  with  the 
gift  of  Prophecie,  and  also  to  haue  hadde  the  gift  of  healing  infirmities  and  diseases. 
Namely,  he  vsed  to  help  those  that  were  vexed  with  the  disease,  commonly  called 
the  Kyngs  euill,  and  left  that  vertuc  as  it  were  a  portion  of  inheritance  vnto  his  suc- 
cessors the  Kyngs  of  this  Renlme.'  Edward's  miraculous  powers  were  believed  in 
by  his  contemporaries,  or  at  least  soon  after  his  death,  and  expressly  recognised  by 
Pope  Alexander  III,  who  canonized  him.  The  power  of  healing  was  claimed  for 
his  successors  early  in  the  twelfth  century,  for  it  is  controverted  by  William  of 
Malmesbury,  and  asserted  later  in  the  same  ccnturj'  by  Peter  of  Blois,  who  held  a 
high  office  in  the  Royal  Household  (see  Freeman's  Norman  Conquest,  vol.  ii,  pp. 
527,  528).  The  same  power  was  claimed  for  the  kings  of  France,  and  was  sup- 
posed to  be  conferred  by  the  unction  of  the  *  Sainte  Ampoule'  on  their  coronation. 
William  Tooker,  D.  D.,  in  his  ^Charisma  sett  Donum  Sauationis,^  I597>  while  claim- 
ing the  power  for  his  own  sovereign,  Elizabeth,  concedes  it  also  to  the  Most  Chri*^- 
tian  King;  but  Andr6  Laurent,  physician  to  Henry  IV  of  France,  taxes  the  Enj^lish 
sovereigns  with  imposture.  His  book  is  entitled,  ^De  Mirabilis  trtivias  satinndi  vi 
solis  Gallice  Regibtts  Christiauissiniis  divinitus  concessa^  &c.,  1609,  The  Roman 
Catholic  subjects  of  Elizabeth,  perhaps  out  of  patriotism,  conceded  to  her  the  pos- 
session of  this  one  virtue,  though  they  were  somewhat  staggered  to  fi^d  that  she 
possessed  it  quite  as  much  after  the  Papal  excommunication  as  before.  James  the 
First's  practice  of  touching  for  the  evil  is  mentioned  several  times  in  Nichols's 
Progresses,  e.  g.,  vol.  iii,  pp.  264,  273.  Charles  I,  when  at  York,  touched  seventy 
persons  in  one  dav.     Charles  II  also  touched,  when  an  exile  at  Bruges,  omitting. 


ACi*  IV,  sc.  iii.]  MA  CBE  TH,  243 

I  have  seen  him  do.     How  he  solicits  heaven, 

Himself  best  knows:  but  strangely-visited  people,  150 

All  swoln  and  ulcerous,  pitiful  to  the  eye, 

The  mere  despair  of  surgery,  he  cures. 

Hanging  a  golden  stamp  about  their  necks, 

Put  on  with  holy  prayers :  and  'tis  spoken, 

149.     I  have]  Pve  Pope,  +,  Dyce  ii,  150.  strangely 'visited'\  Hyphen,  Pope. 

Huds.  ii.  strangely  visited  Sing.  Huds.  i. 

perhaps  for  sufficient  reason,  the  gift  of  the  coin.  He  practised  with  signal  success 
after  his  restoration.  One  of  Dr  Johnson's  earliest  recollections  was  the  being 
taken  to  be  touched  by  Queen  Anne  in  17 12  (Boswell,  vol.  i,  p.  38).  Even  Swift 
seems  to  have  believed  in  the  efBcacy  of  the  cure  ( Works ^  ed.  Scott,  ii,  252).  The 
Whigs  did  not  claim  the  power  for  the  Hanoverian  sovereigns,  though  they  highly 
resented  Carte's  claiming  it  for  the  Pretender  in  his  History  of  England. 

[For  much  curious  information  on  this  subject  see  Chambers's  Book  of  Days ^  vol. 
i,  p.  82,  and  W.  B.  Rye,  England  as  Seen  by  Foreigners^  pp.  151,  275.  Ed.] 

149.  solicit]  Walker  (Crit.,  iii,  274).  Solicit^  like  many  other  words  derived 
from  the  Latin, — as  religion  for  worship  or  service^  &c., — had  not  yet  lost  its  strict 
Latin  meaning. 

Lettsom  {^Foot  note  to  the  above).  The  original  signification  of  the  Latin  word 
seems  to  have  been  to  move,  and  the  various  meanings  attached  to  it  by  lexicogra- 
phers are  but  modifications  of  this  primary  one.  In  the  language  of  Sh.,  Edward 
solicited f  or  moved y  heaven  by  means  known  to  himself;  Suffolk  (l  Hen.  VI ;  V,  iii, 
190)  proposed  to  solid ty  or  move,  Henry  by  speaking  of  the  wonderful  endowments 
of  Margaret;  and  Hamlet  (V,  ii,  369),  though  his  speech  was  cut  short  by  death, 
seems  to  have  been  thinking  of  the  events  that  had  solicited^  or  moved ^  him  to  recom- 
mend Fortinbras  as  successor  to  the  throne. 

Clarendon.  This  word  has  occasionally  the  sense  of  prevailing  by  entreaty  or 
prayer,  like  litare  in  Latin.     Compare  Rich.  II :  I,  ii,  2. 

152.  mere]  Aiibott  (§  15).  As  in  Latin;  equivalent  to  'unmixed  with  anything 
else  :'  hence,  by  inference, '  intact,'  *  complete.*  In  this  case  *  the  utter  despair.'  In 
accordance  with  its  original  meaning,  *  not  merely^  in  Bacon,  is  used  for  *  not  en- 
tirely.^    So  Ham.,  I,  ii,  137. 

153.  stamp]  Steevens.  The  coin  called  an  angel.  See  Mer.  of  Ven.,  II,  vii, 
56.     Its  value  was  ten  shillings. 

Clarendon.  There  is  no  warrant  in  Holinshed  for  the  statement  that  the  Con- 
fessor hung  a  golden  coin  or  stamp  about  the  necks  of  the  patients.  This  was, 
however,  a  custom  which  prevailed  in  later  days.  Previously  to  Charles  II's  time 
some  current  coin,  as  an  angel,  was  used  for  the  purpose,  but  in  Charles's  reign  a 
special  medal  was  struck  and  called  a  *  touch-piece.'  The  identical  touch-piece 
which  Queen  Anne  hung  round  the  neck  of  Dr  Johnson  is  preserved  in  the  British 
Museum. 

154.  prayers]  Chambers  (Book  of  DaySy  vol.  i,  p.  84).  A  form  of  prayer  to  be 
used  at  the  ceremony  of  touching  for  the  king's  evil  was  originally  printed  on  a 
separate  sheet,  but  was  introduced  into  the  Book  of  Common  Prayer  as  early 
as  16S4. 


244  MACBETH.  [act  iv,  sc.  iii. 

To  the  succeeding  royalty  he  leaves  155 

The  healing  benediction.     With  this  strange  virtue 

He  hath  a  heavenly  gift  of  prophecy, 

And  sundry  blessings  hang  about  his  throne 

That  speak  him  full  of  grace. 

Enter  Ross. 

Macd,  See,  who  comes  here  ? 

Mai.     My  countryman ;  but  yet  I  know  him  not.  160 

Macd,     My  ever-gentle  cousin,  welcome  hither. 

Mai,     I  know  him  now :  good  God,  betimes  remove 
The  means  that  makes  us  strangers ! 

Ross,  Sir,  amen. 

Macd,     Stands  Scotland  where  it  did  ? 

Ross,  Alas,  poor  country ! 

Almost  afraid  to  know  itself!     It  cannot  165 

Be  call'd  our  mother,  but  our  grave :  where  nothing, 
But  who  knows  nothing,  is  once  seen  to  smile ; 
Where  sighs  and  groans  and  shrieks  that  rend  the  air. 
Are  made,  not  mark'd ;  where  violent  sorrow  seems 

'57'    ^fi^^^fi^r^a'  '^3-     ^^^  means]  Twice  in  Y^^^, 

158.  sundry]  sondry  F,.  The  mean  Sing,  ii,  Coll.  ii. 

159.  Scene  vi.  Pope,  +.  makes]  make  Han.  Johns.  Steev. 
Enter    Ross.]    After  line    i6o,        Var.  Sing,  i,  Knt,  Coll.  Huds.  i,  Del. 

Dyce,  Sta.  Hal. 

161.  ever-gentle]     Hyphen,     Pope.  l66.     nothing]  no  one  H.  Rowe. 
ever  gentle  Cam.                                                      1 68.     rettd]    Rowe.     rent  hf,   Dav. 

162.  God,  betimes]  Cap.  God  betimes  Cap.  Steev.  Var.  Sing.  Knt  i,  Dyce,  Sta. 
Ff,  Dav.  +,  Jen.  Hal. 

Clarendon.  It  was  left  out  in  17 19. 

spoken]  Abbott  (^  200).  Here  used  for  *  'tis  said.'  In  line  159  *  speak'  is  used 
for  describe.  [See  this  article  for  instances  of  the  omission  of  the  preposition  after 
some  verbs  which  can  easily  be  regarded  as  transitive.   En.] 

160.  not]  Steevens.  Malcolm  discovers  Ross  to  be  his  countryman  while  he  is 
yet  at  a  distance,  by  his  dress. 

163.  means]  Singer  (ed.  2).  There  is  no  doubt  that  Sh.  wrote  with  his  contcm 
poraries,  *the  meane,   in  its  old  singular  form,  from  the  French  moycn, 

Staunton.  Used  perhaps  as  moans,  for  woes,  troubles,  &c. 

168.  rend]  Steevens.  To  rent  is  an  ancient  verb,  which  has  been  long  ago  dis- 
used.  In  Ciesar  and  Potupey,  1607:  'With  rented  hair,  and  eyes  besprent  with 
tears.* 

Malone.  In  The  Legend  of  Orpheus  and  Eurydice,  1 597  :  *  While  with  his  fingers 
he  his  hair  doth  rent.* 

Singer.  It  is  the  old  orthography  of  the  verb  to  rend. 


ACT  IV.  sc.  iii.]  MACBETH.  245 

A  modern  ecstasy:  the  dead  man*s  knell  170 

Is  there  scarce  ask'd  for  who ;  and  good  men's  lives 
Expire  before  the  flowers  in  their  caps, 
Dying  or  ere  they  sicken. 

1 70.  dead  tnan^s\  Johns.  Deadmans  whom  ;  Johns.  Rann.  Coll.  Huds.  White, 
F,F,.     Dead-man's  FgF^,  Rowe,  -f .  Ktly. 

171.  for  who ;'\  for  whom?  Pope,  173.     Dying]  Die  H,  Rowe. 
Han.    for  whom:  Theob.  Warb.    /or  ere]  ^Vr  Rowe,  Han.  Dyce  ii. 

Clarendon.  *  Rent  *  was  used  indifferently  with  *  rend,'  as  the  present  tense  of 
the  verb.     So  also  *  girt  *  and  *  gird.' 

170.  modern]  Steevens.  Generally  used  by  Sh.  to  signify  /rite,  common,  as  in 
As  You  Like  It,  H,  vii,  156. 

Nares.  I  remember  a  very  old  lady,  after  whose  death  a  miscellaneous  paper  of 
trifles  was  found  among  her  property,  inscribed  by  herself,  *  odd  and  modern  things.' 

Dyce  {Gloss.)  *  Per  modo  tulto  fuor  del  modern*  uso,* — Dante, /'«r^.,  xvi,  42, 
where  Biagioli  remarks,  *Afoderno,  s'usa  qui  in  senso  di  ordinario,* 

White.  That  is,  a  slight  nervousness. 

ecstasy]  Nares.  In  the  usage  of  Sh.,  and  some  others,  it  stands  for  every  spe- 
cies  of  alienation  of  mind,  whether  temporary  or  permanent,  proceeding  from  joy, 
sorrow,  wonder,  or  any  other  exciting  cause ;  and  this  certainly  suits  with  the  ety- 
mology, iKOTaaig. 

Clarendo.s.  The  emphasis  must  be  on  *  modem,'  as  *  ecstasy  *  is  not  antithetical 
to  *  violent,'  or  *  sorrow.' 

171.  who]  Abbott  (J  414).  Instead  of  saying  *  I  know  what  you  are,'  in  which 
the  object  of  the  verb  *  I  know  *  is  the  clause  *  what  you  are,'  Sh.  frequently  intro- 
duces before  the  dependent  clause  another  object,  so  as  to  make  the  dependent 
clause  a  mere  explanation  of  the  object.  As  *  I  know  you  what  you  are.' — Lear,  I, 
i,  272.  So  '  no  one  asks  about  the  dead  man's  knell  for  whom  it  is '  becomes  in  the 
passive,  as  in  the  text.  [Compare  also  II,  i,  57.  For  instances  of  the  neglect  of 
the  inflection  of  who,  see  §  274.  Ed.] 

173.  Dying]  Harry  Rowe.  Dr  Johnson,  who  had  asserted  that  there  were  no 
trees  in  Scotland,  has  here  lost  a  happy  subject  for  the  exercise  of  his  good  nature. 
What !  Flowers  in  the  Highlands !  Yes,  my  dear  departed  friend.  Heath-flowers 
m  abundance.  And  it  is  to  these  flowers  that  Sh.  alludes,  it  being  customary  with 
the  Highlanders,  when  on  a  march,  to  stick  sprigs  of  heath  in  their  bonnets.  We 
cannot  say  that  a  vegetable  *  expires,'  but,  in  common  with  animal  life,  it  may  be 
said  to  *  die.'     The  alteration  gives  sense  to  the  passage. 

or]  Abbott  (§  131).  *Or,'  in  the  sense  of  'before,'  is  a  corruption  of  A.  S.,  ar 
(Eng.  ere),  which  is  found  in  Early  English  in  the  forms  er,  air,  ar,  ear,  or,  eror. 
As  this  meaning  of  or  died  out,  it  seems  to  have  been  combined  with  ere  for  the 
sake  of  emphasis.  As  in  the  present  instance;  also  King  John,  V,  vi,  44;  Temp., 
V,  i,  103.  We  find  in  E.  E.  *  erst  er,'  *  bifore  er,'  'before  or'  (Mitzner,  iii,  451). 
Another  explanation  might  be  given.  £re  has  been  conjectured  to  be  a  corruption 
of  e'er,  ever,  and  *  or  ever  *  an  emphatic  form  like  *  whenever,*  *  wherever.*  *  Ever ' 
is  written  *ere*  in  Sonn.  93,  133.  And  compare  *0r  ever  your  pots  be  made  hot 
with  thorns.' — Ps.  Iviii.  Against  the  latter  explanation  is  the  fact  that  *ever'  is 
much  more  common  than  *  ftre.*  It  is  much  more  likely  that  *  ever '  should  be  sub- 
stituted for  *  ere  *  than  *  ere  *  for  *  ever.' 
21* 


246  MACBETH,  [act  IV.  sc.  iii. 

Macd.  O,  relation 

Too  nice,  and  yet  too  true ! 

Mai.  What's  the  newest  grief? 

Ross,     That  of  an  hour's  age  doth  hiss  the  speaker ;  175 

Each  minute  teems  a  new  one. 

Macd.  How  does  my  wife  ? 

Ross,     Why,  well. 

Macd.  And  all  my  children  ? 

Ross.  Well  too. 

Macd.     The  tyrant  has  not  battered  at  their  peace  ? 

Ross.     No ;  they  were  well  at  peace  when  I  did  leave  'em. 

Macd.     Be  not  a  niggard  of  your  speech  :  how  goes  't?      180 

Ross.     When  I  came  hither  to  transport  the  tidings, 
Which  I  have  heavily  borne,  there  ran  a  rumour 
Of  many  worthy  fellows  that  were  out ; 
Which  was  to  my  belief  witness'd  the  rather, 

'73'    0,reiation]  Relation,  oh!  lUzxi.  175.     hour' s"]  houeres  Y ^, 

^73>  174-     Oy...true  I^  Theob.     One  179.     Vw]  Ff,  Dav.  +,  Jen.  Dyce, 

line,  F  .  Sta.  White,  Glo.  Cam.  Cla.  Huds.  ii. 

174.     and  yet  too'\  yet  Steev.  conj.  them  Cap.  et  cet. 

What'5\     What  is    Han.   Cap.  180.    goes'tl^    Cap.  Jen.   Dyce,  Sta. 

Steev.  Var.  Sing,  i,  Coll.  Huds.  i,  White.  White,  Glo.  Cam.  Cla.  Huds.  ii.    gos^t 

nezvesti  new'st  Walker,  Sing,  ii,  F^F^F^.  go'si^Y^.  goes  it  Rowe,  etcet. 
Ktly,  Dyce  ii,  Huds.  ii. 

174.  nice]  See  Rom.  &  Jul.,  Ill,  i,  147;  V,  ii,  18. 

Delius.  Affected,  elaborate.  It  refers  to  the  rhetorical  style  decked  out  with  an- 
titheses and  metaphors  in  which  Ross  had  announced  the  state  of  Scotland. 

Dyce  (Glossary).  Particular(?). 

Clarendon.  It  seems  here  to  mean  *  fancifully  minute,'  *  set  forth  in  fastidiously 
chosen  terms.'     For  a  similar  use  of  it  see  Tro.  &  Cress.,  IV,  v,  250. 

Hudson  (ed.  2).  Too  nice,  because  too  elaborate,  or  having  too  much  an  air  of 
study  and  art ;  and  so  not  like  the  frank  utterance  of  deep  feeling. 

174.  newest]  Walker  (  Vers.  170).  In  reading  this  passage  I  feel  as  if  Sh.  must 
have  written,  IV/iat's  the  nezv' st  grief  ? 

176.  teems]  Clarendon.  This  verb  is  found  with  an  objective  case  following  in 
Hen.  V:  V,  ii,  51. 

177.  well]  Steevens.  So  in  Ant.  &  Cleo.,  II,  v,  33. 

children]  For  instances  of  *  children '  pronounced  as  a  trisyllable  see  Walker, 
Vers.,  p.  7,  and  Abbott,  \  477. 

179.  peace]  Clarendon.  We  find  the  same  sad  play  upon  the  double  meaning 
of  'peace'  in  Rich.  II:  III,  ii,  127. 

183.  out]  Clarke.  This  was  a  common  phrase  at  a  later  period:  *  He  was  out 
in  the  '45,'  meaning  he  was  engaged  in  the  Scotch  Rebellion  of  1745. 

184.  witness'd]  Staunton.  Evidenced  to  my  belief? 
the  rather]  See  notes  on  III,  i,  25. 


ACTiv,  sc.  iii.]  MACBETH.  247 

For  that  I  saw  the  tyrant's  power  a-foot :  185 

•Now  is  the  time  of  help ;  your  eye  in  Scotland 
Would  create  soldiers,  make  our  women  fight, 
To  dofif  their  dire  distresses. 

MaL  Be't  their  comfort 

We  are  coming  thither :  gracious  England  hath 
Lent  us  good  Siward  and  ten  thousand  men;  190 

An  older  and  a  better  soldier  none 
That  Christendom  gives  out. 

Ross,  Would  I  could  answer 

This  comfort  with  the  like !     But  I  have  words 
That  would  be  howl'd  out  in  the  desert  air, 
Where  hearing  should  not  latch  them. 

Macd,  What  concern  they  ?     195 

The  general  cause  ?  or  is  it  a  fee-grief 
Due  to  some  single  breast  ? 

Ross.  No  mind  that's  honest 

But  in  it  shares  some  woe,  though  the  main  part 
Pertains  to  you  alone. 

Macd,  If  it  be  mine, 

Keep  it  not  from  me,  quickly  let  me  have  it.  200 

Ross,     Let  not  your  ears  despise  my  tongue  for  ever, 

187.  make  (ntr\  and  make  Yoi^^y  ^r ,  I95»  196.      What rai/j^/]  Theob. 

189.  We  are"]  We're  Pope,  +,  Dyce  Wka/  concerne  they^  The gener all  cause, 
ii,  Huds.  ii.  Ff.      What?  concern  they  The  general 

190.  Siward"]  Theob.  Seyward  Ff.         cause?   Rowe,  Pope,  Han.      What,,,,, 
195.     latch]  catch  Rowe, +,  Jen.  H.        cause.  Coll.  White. 

Rowe. 

185.  For  that]  See  note  on  IV,  iii,  106. 

188.  doff]  Clarendon.  This  is  the  only  passage  in  Sh.  where  *doff'  is  used 
metaphorically,  except  Rom.  &  Jul.,  II,  ii,  47. 

191.  none]  Delius.  There  is  must  be  supplied.  Such  an  ellipsis  is  very  frequent 
in  negative  clauses;  thus  in  line  197  :  *  No  mind  that's  honest'  stands  for  *  There  is 
no  mind,'  &c. 

194.  would]  See  I,  vii,  34. 

195.  latch]  Wedgewood.  To  catch.  Anglo&axon,  laccan,gelaccan,  to  csitch,  to 
seize;  Gael.,  glac,  catch.  The  word  seems  to  represent  the  sound  of  clapping  or 
smacking  the  hand  down  upon  a  thing,  or  perhaps  the  snap  of  a  fastening  falling 
into  its  place.  [See  £>iv,  of  Furley,  p.  567.  Brockett's  Gloss,  of  North  Country 
Words,  1829.     Forby's  Vocab,  of  East  Anglia,  1 830.    Ed.] 

196.  fee-grief]  Johnson.  A  peculiar  sorrow ;  a  grief  that  hath  a  single  owner. 
Steevens.  It  must,  I  think,  be  allowed  that  the  Attorney  has  been  guilty  of  a  flat 

trespass  on  the  Poet. 


248  MACBETH.  [act  iv.  sc.  iii. 

Which  shall  possess  them  with  the  heaviest  sound ' 
That  ever  yet  they  heard. 

Macd,  Hum  !  I  guess  at  it. 

Ross,     Your  castle  is  surprised ;  your  wife  and  babes 
Savagely  slaughtered :  to  relate  the  manner,  205 

Were,  on  the  quarry  of  these  murder'd  deer, 
To  add  the  death  of  you. 

MaL  Merciful  heaven ! — 

What,  man !  ne'er  pull  your  hat  upon  your  brows , 
Give  sorrow  words :  the  grief  that  does  not  speak 
Whispers  the  o*er-fraught  heart,  and  bids  it  break.  210 

Macd.     My  children  too  ? 

Ross.  Wife,  children,  servants,  all 

203.     ffuni]    Humh  Ff,   Dav.   Jen.  21 1-2 1 3.     Wife,..ioo  f'\    Cap.      Two 

Humph  Mai.  lines,  Ff,  +,  Knt,  Sta. 

201.  ever]  Staunton  (The  Athenaum,  2  November,  1872).  We  should  read,  I 
think,  aye.  For  notwithstanding  all  that  has  been  said  to  the  contrary,  these  repeti- 
tions [see  line  203]  are  not  Shakespearian. 

202.  possess]  Clarendon.  We  have  this  word  in  the  sense  of  *  informed,*  in 
Webster,  Appius  and  Virginia^  I,  iii,  p.  152,  ed.  Dyce,  1857  :  *  Virginius,  we  would 
have  you  thus  possess* d.^ 

203.  Hum]  Harry  Rowe.  Humph  supposes  something  of  deliberation,  which 
was  not  Macduff's  case.  His  conception  was  instantaneous.  I  here  [reading  *  Ha !'] 
set  the  genius  of  Sh.  against  the  old  quartos  and  folios,  meo  periculo. 

206.  quarry]  Wedgewood.  Among  falconers  any  game  flown  at  and  killed. — 
Bailey.  From  the  French  curie^  the  entrails  of  the  game  which  were  commonly 
given  to  the  dogs  at  the  death.  Curie,  a  dog's  reward,  the  hounds'  fee  of,  or  part  in, 
the  game  they  have  killed. — Cotgrave.  The  word  is  written  cuyerie  by  De  Foix  in 
his  Miroir  de  la  Chasse,  and  was  imported  into  English  under  the  name  of  querre^ 
or  querry.  The  book  of  St.  Albans  instructs  us  in  *  undoing '  a  hart  to  take  out  *  the 
tongue  and  the  brains,  laying  them  with  the  lights... to  reward  the  hounds,  which  is 
called  the  querry.^ — N.  <5r»  Qu.,  May  9,  1 857.  Considered  with  reference  to  the 
dogs,  the  curie  or  querre  was  the  practical  object  of  the  chase,  and  thus  came  to  be 
applied  to  the  game  killed. 

209.  speak]  Steevens.  So  in  Webster's  Vitloria  Corombona^  *  Those  are  the 
killing  griefs,  which  dare  not  speak.*  ^Curce  leves  loquunturj  in^cntes  stupcnt^ 
[Seneca,  Hippolytus,  607. — Clarendon]. 

Collier.  The  following  is  from  Montaigne's  Essays,  by  Florio,  b.  i,  ch.  2,  a  work 

of  which  it  is  known  Sh.  had  a  copy,  and  of  which  he  certainly  elsewhere  made 

use : — *  All  passions  that  may  be  tasted  and  digested  are  but  mean  and  slight. 

Cura  Uves  ioguuntur,  ingenits  student. 

Light  cares  can  freely  spcake. 
Great  cares  heart  rather  breake.' 

210.  Whispers]  Abbott  (J  200).  Often  used  without  a  preposition  before  a  per- 
sonal object.     Rarely  as  here,  or  in  Much  Ado,  III,  i,  4. 


ACT  IV.  sc.  ui.]  MACBETH.  240 

That  could  be  found, 

Macd,  And  I  must  be  from  thence ! — 

My  wife  kill'd  too  ? 

Ross.  I  have  said. 

Mai.  Be  comforted : 

Let's  make  us  medicines  of  our  great  revenge. 
To  cure  this  deadly  grief  215 

Macd.     He  has  no  children. — All  my  pretty  ones  ? — 

213.    /^az/<r]/'v^Pope,  +  ( — ^Johns.),  216,217.     AlL,.say  all ?'\    What ,  all 

Dyce  ii,  Huds.  ii.  ...say  all?  Han.  as  one  line. 

216.    He  has\    You  have  H.  Rowe. 

212.  must]  Abbott  (J  314).  Is  sometimes  used  by  Sh.  to  mean  no  more  than 
definite  futurity.  In  the  present  instance,  and  in  V,  viii,  12,  it  seems  to  mean  *is,' 
or  *  was,  destined.' 

216.  children]  Ritson  (p.  76).  That  is,  Malcolm,  not  Macbeth. 

Steevens.  The  meaning  of  this  may  be,  either  that  Macduff  could  not,  by  retalia- 
tion,  revenge  the  murder  of  his  children,  because  Macbeth  had  none  himself ;  or  that 
if  he  had  any,  a  father's  feelings  for  a  father  would  have  prevented  him  from  the 
deed.  I  know  not  from  what  passage  we  are  to  infer  that  Macbeth  had  children 
alive.  Holinshed's  Chronicle  does  not,  as  I  remember,  mention  any.  The  same 
thought  occurs  again  in  King  John,  III,  iv,  91 :  *  He  talks  to  me  that  never  had  a  son* 
Again,  3  Hen.  VI :  V,  v,  63. 

Malone.  The  passage  from  King  John  seems  in  favour  of  the  supposition  that 
these  words  relate  to  Malcolm.  That  Macbeth  had  children  at  some  period,  appears 
from  what  Lady  Macbeth  says,  I,  vii,  54.  I  am  still  more  strongly  confirmed  in 
thinking  these  words  relate  to  Malcolm,  and  not  to  Macbeth,  because  Macbeth  had 
a  son  then  alive,  named  Lulah.  [See  III,  i,  63.  Ed.]  See  Fordun,  Scoti-Chron,  1.  v., 
c.  viii.  Whether  Sh.  was  apprised  of  this  circumstance,  cannot  be  now  ascertained ; 
but  we  cannot  prove  that  he  was  unacquainted  with  it. 

Steevens.  My  copy  of  the  Scoti-Chronicon  (Goodall's  ed.,  vol.  i,  p.  252)  affords 
me  no  reason  for  supposing  that  Lulach  was  a  son  of  Macbeth,  The  words  of  For- 
dun are : — *  Subito  namque  post  mortem  Machabeda  convenerunt  quidam  ex  ejus 
parentela  sceleris  hujusmodi  fautores,  suum  consobrinum,  nomine  Lulach ^  ignomine 
[sic.  Qu.  agnominef  Ed.]  fatuum,  ad  Sconam  ducentes,  et  impositum  sede  regali 
constituunt  regem,'  &c.  Nor  does  Wyntown,  in  his  Cronykil,  so  much  as  hint  that 
this  mock-monarch  was  the  immediate  offspring  of  his  predecessor.  It  still  therefore 
remains  to  be  proved  that  *  Macbeth  had  a  son  then  alive.*  Besides,  we  have  been 
already  assured,  by  himself,  on  the  authority  of  the  Witches,  that  his  sceptre  would 
pass  away  into  another  family,  *  no  son  of  his  succeeding.* 

Boswell.  Malone  confounded  Fordun  with  Buchattany  whose  words  are  these : — 
*  Hxc  dum  Forfane  geruntur,  qui  sup>ererant  Macbethi,  filium  ejus  Luthlacum  (cui 
ex  ingenio  cognomen  inditum  erat  Fatuo)  Sconam  ductum  regem  appellant.*  For- 
dun does  not  express  this,  indeed,  but  he  does  not  contradict  it.  Suum  consobrinum 
may  mean  their  relation,  i.  e.  of  the  same  clan.  Steevens's  last  argument  might  bo 
turned  the  other  way.  That  his  son  should  not  succeed  him,  would  more  afflict  a 
man  who  had  a  son  than  one  who  was  childless. 


250  MA  CBE TH.  [act  iv.  sc.  iii. 

Did  you  say  all  ? — O  hell-kite ! — All  ?  217 

What,  all  my  pretty  chickens  and  their  dam 
At  one  fell  swoop  ? 

MaL    Dispute  it  like  a  man. 

217.  say  all?"]  see  All?   Dav.     say        gin  by  Pope,  Han. 

all?  what,  all?  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.  217.     O  hell-kite !'\   O  vulture!  hell- 

0..,All?^    what,  all?    Pope.  kite!  Walker. 

What,  all?  Han.  220.     Dispute'\  Endure  Pope,  Han. 
217-219.     O,., swoop  /*]  In  the  mar- 

Anonymous.  Macduff  has  yet  no  thought  of  vengeance.  Grief  has  taken  full 
possession  of  his  soul.  He  again  rebukes  the  cold  philosophy  of  Malcolm  in  lines 
220,  221,  which  the  more  inclines  me  to  think  that  *  He  has  no  children*  was  in- 
tended for  Malcolm.  .  .  .  We  do  not  believe  that  Sh.  had  any  knowledge  of  such  a 
fact  [that  Macbeth  had  a  son  named  Lulah],  or  if  he  had,  that  he  made  any  refer- 
ence to  it  here.  He  was  too  good  a  judge  of  nature  to  employ  Macduff's  thoughts, 
at  such  a  moment,  on  anything  so  uninteresting. 

Harry  Rowe.  The  address  is  to  Malcolm,  in  answer  to  the  word  *  comforted,* 
which  did  not  accord  with  Macduff's  feelings.  Macbeth's  anxiety  to  have  the  crown 
descend  lineally  shows  that  he  then  had  children. 

DUPORT.  II  est  difficile  que  le  sublime  aille  plus  loin.  Notre  Corneille  lui-mftme 
n*a,  je  crois,  jamais  rien  fait  de  plus  vrai,  de  plus  simple,  de  plus  path6tique. 

Knight.  One  would  imagine  there  could  be  no  doubt  of  whom  Macduff  was 
thinking.  Look  at  the  whole  course  of  the  heart-stricken  man's  sorrow.  He  is  first 
speechless;  then  he  ejaculates  *  my  children  too?'  then  'my  wife  kill'd  too?*  And 
then,  utterly  insensible  to  the  words  addressed  to  him,  *  He  has  no  children. — All  my 
pretty  ones  ?' 

Hunter  (ii,  197).  Not,  I  fear,  Macbeth  has  no  children,  and  therefore  cannot 
have  a  father's  feelings ;  but,  he  has  no  children,  and  therefore  my  vengeance  cannot 
have  its  full  retributive  action.  The  thought  was  unworthy  of  Sh.,  and  it  is  to  be 
classed  with  the  still  more  heinous  offence  of  the  same  kind,  where  Hamlet  will  not 
execute  his  intended  vengeance  on  his  uncle  when  he  finds  him  at  prayer. 

Elwin.  Independent  of  the  unprovoked  and  improbable  rudeness  of  making  a 
reply  at  his  accepted  sovereign,  instead  of  to  his  kindly  intended  address,  it  is  evi- 
dent that  the  phrase  refers  directly  to  the  terms  of  Malcolm's  proposal,  lines  213- 
215 — Macduff  intending  to  express  that  materials  for  such  adequate  revenge  are 
wanting,  as  Macbeth  has  no  children  to  meet  the  purpose.     \_IIalliwell. 

Dalgleish.  It  refers  clearly  to  Malcolm. 

Clarendon.  The  words  would  be  tame  if  applied  to  Malcolm. 

Hudson  (ed.  2).  The  true  meaning,  I  have  no  doubt,  is,  that  if  Malcolm  were  a 
father,  he  would  know  that  such  a  grief  cannot  be  healed  with  the  medicine  of  re- 
venge. 

218.  dam]  Halliwell.  This  word  would  not  now  be  employed  in  reference 
to  a  *<♦!,  but  there  was  nothing  unusual  in  such  a  use  of  the  word  in  Sh.'s 
time        Yonge  chickens  even  from  the  danwne.'     Eliote's  Dictionaries  ed.  Cooper, 

1559. 
220.  Dispute]  Steevens.   Contend  with  your  present  sorrow.     So,  Rom.  and 

Jul.,  Ill,  iii,  63. 


ACT  IV,  sc.  iii.]  MA  CBETH.  2 5 1 

Macd,  I  shall  do  so ;  220 

But  I  must  also  feel  it  as  a  man : 
I  cannot  but  remember  such  things  were, 
That  were  most  precious  to  me. — Did  heaven  look  on, 
And  would  not  take  their  part  ?     Sinful  Macduff, 
They  were  all  struck  for  thee!  naught  that  I  am,  225 

Not  for  their  own  demerits,  but  for  mine, 
Fell  slaughter  on  their  souls.     Heaven  rest  them  now ! 

Mai,     Be  this  the  whetstone  of  your  sword :  let  grief 
Convert  to  anger;  blunt  not  the  heart,  enrage  it. 

Macd,     O,  I  could  play  the  woman  with  mine  ty^s,  230 

And  braggart  with  my  tongue ! — But,  gentle  heavens, 
Cut  short  all  intermission ;  front  to  front 
Bring  thou  this  fiend  of  Scotland  and  myself; 
Within  my  sword's  length  set  him ;  if  he  'scape. 
Heaven  forgive  him  too ! 

220.     do  so^  om.  Pope,  Han.  Mai.  Steev.  Dyce  ii,  Huds.  ii. 

220,  221.     /...man]  One  line,  Rowe.  233.     Scotland  and  myself  ;'\  Theob. 

225.     5truck'\    Dav.      strooke    F^F^.  Scotland  and  myself, 'D^w.Vo^e,     Scot- 

strook  F  F  ,  Cap.  laftd,  and  my  selfe  Ff. 

229.     anger\  wrath  Pope,  + .  235.     Heaven"]  Then  heaven  Pope,  + , 

231.     heavens']  heav'n  Pope,  +,  Cap.  Ktly. 

222,  223.  such  .  .  .  That]  For  instances  of  the  use  of  such  with  relatival  words 
other  than  whichy  see  Abbott,  {  279. 

228.  grief  Convert]  Dalgleish.  With  this  reading  [as  in  the  text.  £d.]  it  is 
difficult  to  see  whom,  or  what,  *  grief*  is  to  *  convert  to  anger;*  but  by  taking  *  con- 
vert* as  an  adjective,  or  participle,  qualifying  *  grief,*  a  good  meaning  is  obtained; 
and  the  idea  of  not  blunting,  but  enraging,  his  heart,  appropriately  follows  up  the 
suggestion  that  the  reflections  of  Macduff's  last  speech  should  be  the  whetstone  of 
his  sword. 

Clarendon.  *  Convert  *  is  used  intransitively  in  Rich.  II :  V,  iii,  64. 

231.  But]  Delius.  It  is  here,  and  not  at  line  216,  that  the  possibility  of  revenge 
on  Macbeth  first  occurs  to  Macduff. 

heavens]  Dyce  (ed.  2).  F^  reads,  *  gentle  heaven*  [My  copy  of  F^  reads,  *  gen- 
tle heavens.^  Ed.]  I  should  have  retained  [Heavens  of  FJ  under  the  idea  that, 
since  we  have  before  had  *  heaven  *  used  as  a  plural,  we  might  here  accept  *  heavens  * 
as  singular, — were  it  not  that  in  Macduff's  preceding  speech  we  have  *  heaven  look 
on*  and  *  heaven  rest  them  now,'  and  at  the  conclusion  of  the  present  speech  *  Heaven 
forgive  him  too  !* 

235.  Heaven]  Clarendon.  Probably  the  original  MS  had  *  May  God  *  or  *  Then 
God '  or  *  God,  God,'  as  in  V,  i,  70,  which  was  changed  in  the  actor's  copy  to 
*  Heaven  *  for  fear  of  incurring  the  penalties  provided  by  the  Act  of  Parliament 
(3  Jac.  I)  against  profanity  on  the  stage. 

too]  Hudson  (ed.  2).  The  little  word  *too*  is  so  used  here  as  to  intensify,  in  a 
remarkable  manner,  the  sense  of  what  precedes.     Put  him  once  within  the  reach  of 


252  MACBETH.  [act  iv,  sc.  iii. 

Mai,  This  tune  goes  manly.  235 

235.     This  tune\  Rowe  ii.     This  time  ¥(,  Dav.  Rowe  i,  Knt,  Ktly. 

my  sword,  and  if  I  don't  kill  him,  then  I  am  worse  than  he,  and  I  not  only  forg^ive 
him  myself,  but  pray  God  to  forgive  him  also :  or  perhaps  it  is,  then  I  am  as  bad  as 
he,  and  may  God  forgive  us  both.  I  cannot  point  to  an  instance,  anywhere,  of  lan- 
guage more  intensely  charged  with  meaning.  It  illustrates  perfectly  Milton's  fine 
aphoristic  expression  for  the  highest  excellence  in  writing,  '  where  more  is  meant 
than  meets  the  ear.' 

235.  tune]  GiFFORD  [Massinger's  IVorkSf  vol.  ii,  p.  356).  The  Commentators 
might  have  spared  their  pains  [in  changing  time  to  *tune*],  since  it  appears  from 
numberless  examples  that  the  two  words  were  once  synonymous.  Time^  however, 
was  the  more  ancient  and  common  term;  nor  was  it  till  long  after  the  age  of 
Massinger  that  the  use  of  it,  in  the  sense  of  harmony,  was  entirely  superseded  by 
that  of  tune. 

Collier.  Time  could  here  scarcely  be  right,  even  were  we  to  take  Gifford's  state- 
ment for  granted.  No  misprint  could  be  more  easy  than  time  for  tune^  and  vice 
versA ;  and  perhaps  none  was  more  frequently  committed. 

Elwin.  Sh.  has,  in  several  instances,  used  tune  in  this  figurative  sense,  but  in  no 
case  has  he  so  applied  the  word  time^  nor  anywhere  employed  it  as  synonymous 
with  tune.  And  notwithstanding  Gifford's  assertion,  the  passage  to  which  he  refers 
is  paralleled  simply  through  his  misinterpretation  of  it.  It  is  :  *  The  motion  of  the 
spheres  is  out  of  time.  Her  musical  notes  but  heard.*  This  is  the  rhapsody  of  a 
lover  upon  the  singing  of  his  mistress,  and  time  has  here  no  allusion  whatsoever  to 
tune;  the  meaning  of  the  sentence  being,  not  thit  the  music  of  the  spheres  seems 
inharmonious,  or  out  of  tune^  by  comparison  with  her  noterf,  but  that  the  motion  of 
the  spheres  is  out  of  course^  or  due  season^  they  being  at  once  arrested  or  delayed  in 
their  befitting  or  accustomed  action  by  rapture  at  her  song.  Even  admitting  these 
terms  ever  to  have  been  technically  synonymous,  yet  time^  in  relation  to  harmony, 
must  necessarily  have  possessed  a  degree  of  peculiarity, — a  more  decided  reference 
to  measure  rather  than  to  tone  or  expression^ — that  would  have  made  it  unsuitable  to 
the  figurative  application  of  the  text. 

Dyce.  Who,  except  Knight,  will  suppose  that  GifTord  would  have  defended  the 
reading  *  time '  in  such  a  passage  as  this  ? 

White  {^As  You  Like  It^  V,  iii,  37).  In  the  MS  of  any  period  it  is  ver}'  difficult 
to  tell  'time'  from  *  tune,'  except  by  the  dot  of  the  /,  so  frequently  omitted.  I  can 
speak  from  experience  that  in  ninety-nine  cases  out  of  a  hundred  in  which  '  time '  is 
written,  it  will  be  at  first  put  in  type  as  'tune.'  {King  John,  III,  iii,  26,  •  I  had  a 
thing  to  say.  But  I  will  fit  it  to  some  better  /////<?,'  where  the  original  has  tune. 
*  Time '  and  *  tune '  were  never  used  as  synonymous. 

235.  manly]  See  III,  v,  i. 

Clarendon.  In  adjectives  which  end  in  *  -ly,*  the  familiar  termination  of  the 
adverb,  we  find  the  adjective  form  frequently  used  for  the  latter,  as  in  Ham.,  I,  ii, 
202:  *Goes  slow  and  stately  by  them.'  So  also  in  the  Liturgy,  *  godly  and  quietly 
governed.' 

Coleridge  (i,  251).  How  admirably  Macduff's  grief  is  in  harmony  with  the 
whole  play !  It  rends,  not  dissolves,  the  heart.  *  The  tune  of  it  goes  manly.' 
Thus  is  Sh.  always  master  of  himself  and  of  his  subject, — a  genuine  Proteus; — we 
see  all  things  in  him,  as  images  in  a  calm  lake,  most  distinct,  most  accurate, — only 


ACT  V,  sc.  L]  MACBETH,  253 

Come,  go  we  to  the  king ;  our  power  is  ready  ; 

Our  lack  is  nothing  but  our  leave.     Macbeth 

Is  ripe  for  shaking,  and  the  powers  above 

Put  on  their  instruments.     Receive  what  cheer  you  may ;       239 

The  night  is  long  that  never  finds  the  day.  [Exaint 


ACT  V. 

Scene  I.     Dunsinane.    Ante-room  in  the  castle. 

Enter  a  Doctor  of  Physic  and  a  Waiting  Gentlewoman. 

Doct.  I  have  two  nights  watched  with  you,  but  can  perceive 
no  truth  in  your  report.     When  was  it  she  last  walked  ? 

239.  Put  on"]  Make  us  H.  Rowe  chamber  in  Macbeth's  Castle.  Rowe,  + . 
(MS  correction).  Waiting  Gentlewoman.]  Ff.  Gen- 

Dunsinane.]  Cap.  tlewoman.  Pope,  -f  • 
Ante-room...]    Glo.     An   Anti-  I.    two\  too  F,. 

more  splendid,  more  glorified.  This  is  correctness  in  the  only  philosophical  sense. 
But  he  requires  your  sympathy,  and  your  submission ;  you  must  have  that  recipiency 
of  moral  impression  without  which  the  purposes  and  ends  of  the  drama  would  be 
frustrated,  and  the  absence  of  which  demonstrates  an  utter  want  of  all  imagination, 
a  deadness  to  that  necessary  pleasure  of  being  innocently, — shall  I  say,  deluded  ? — 
or  rather,  drawn  away  from  ourselves  to  the  music  of  noblest  thought  in  harmo- 
nious sounds.  Happy  he,  who  not  only  in  the  public  theatre,  but  in  the  labours  of 
a*profession,  and  round  the  light  of  his  own  hearth,  still  carries  a  heart  so  pleasure- 
fraught. 

237.  Clarke.  Nothing  is  needed  now  but  for  us  to  take  our  leave  of  the  king. 

239.  Put  on]  Steevens.  That  is,  encourage,  thrust  forward  us,  their  instruments, 
against  the  tyrant.  So,  in  Lear,  I,  iv,  227.  Again,  in  Chapman's  version  of  the 
eleventh  Iliad:  *For  Jove  makes  Trojans  instruments^  and  virtually  then  Wields 
arms  himself.' 

Clarendon.  The  phrase  *  to  put  upon  *  is  found  in  a  similar  sense  in  Meas.  for 
Meas.,  II,  i,  280:  *  They  do  you  wrong  to  put  you  so  oft  upon*t,*  i.  e.,  to  make  you 
serve  the  office  of  constable. 

instruments]  See  II,  iv,  10. 

Scene  i]  Ritter.  After  the  stormy  close  of  the  preceding  Act,  the  placid  calm 
of  this  chamber,  the  subdued  whispering  of  the  Gentlewoman  and  the  Doctor,  and 
of  Lady  Macbeth  herself,  impart  a  feeling  of  horror. 

Doctor  of  Physic]  Collier.  The  English  *  Doctor,'  introduced  in  the  last  scene, 
must  also  have  been  a  Doctor  of  Physic,  though  not  so  described  in  the  old  eds. 

2.  walked]  Bucknill  (p.  38).  Whether  the  deep  melancholy  of  remorse  often 
tends  to  exhibit  itself  in  somnambulism,  is  a  fact  which,  on  scientific  grounds,  may  be 
doubted. 

22 


254  MACBETH,  [act  v,  sc.  i. 

Gent  Since  his  majesty  went  into  the  field,  I  have  seen  her 
rise  from  her  bed,  throw  her  nightgown  upon  her,  unlock  her 
closet,  take  forth  paper,  fold  it,  write  upon 't,  read  it,  afterwards 
seal  it,  and  again  return  to  bed ;  yet  all  this  while  in  a  most  fast 
sleep.  7 

Doct.     A  great  perturbation  in  nature,  to  receive  at  once  the 

Maginn  says  that  this  scene  is  in  blank  verse.    See  II,  iii,  I ;  and  Delius,  V,  i,  13. 

3.  field]  Steevens.  This  is  one  of  Sh.'s  oversights.  He  forgot  that  he  had  shut 
up  Macbeth  in  Dunsinane,  and  surrounded  him  with  besiegers.  That  he  could  not 
go  into  the  fields  is  observed  by  himself  with  splenetic  impatience,  V,  v,  2-7.  It  is 
clear  also,  from  other  passages,  that  Macbeth's  motions  had  long  been  circumscribed 
by  the  walls  of  his  fortress.  The  truth  may  be,  that  Sh.  thought  the  spirit  of  Lady 
M.  could  not  be  so  effectually  subdued,  and  her  peace  of  mind  so  speedily  unsettled 
by  reflection  on  her  guilt,  as  during  the  absence  of  her  husband  ; 

deserto  jaciiit  dum  frigida  lecto, 

Dum  queritur  tardos  ire  relicta  dies. 

For  the  present  change  in  her  disposition,  therefore,  our  poet  (though  in  the  haste 
of  finishing  his  play  he  forgot  his  plan)  might  mean  to  have  provided,  by  allotting 
her  such  an  interval  of  solitude  as  would  subject  her  mind  to  perturbation,  and  dis- 
pose her  thoughts  to  repentance.  It  does  not  appear,  from  any  circumstance  within 
the  compass  of  this  drama,  that  she  had  once  been  separated  from  her  husband,  after 
his  return  from  the  victory  over  Macdonwald  and  the  king  of  Norway. 

Anonymous.  Did  Sh.  mean  more,  here,  by  Macbeth's  going  into  the  fields  than  his 
leaving  his  Castle  for  some  time  to  superintend  the  fortifications  of  Dunsinane,  and 
to  inspect  the  troops,  which  are  not  to  be  supposed  to  have  been  confined  within  the 
fortress  until  Macbeth  heard  of  the  approach  of  Malcolm  and  his  formidable  army? 
The  nobility  were  leaving  him,  and  Ross  has  said  that  he  '  saw  tJie  tyrant's  pcr^i'd- 
afootJ*  His  Majesty's  presence  *  / ;/  the  field''  was  therefore  necessaiy  in  order  to 
make  serious  preparation  for  the  attack  which,  he  well  knew,  was  in  contcmplaiion. 
He  was  not  yet  *  surrounded  with  besiegers,'  as  Steevens  states :  he  did  not  even 
know  that  the  English  force  was  advancing. 

Knight.  In  the  next  scene  the  Scotchmen  say,  *  the  Enn;lish  power  is  ;/<-v7r.' 
When  an  enemy  is  advancing  from  another  country  is  it  not  likely  tliat  the  com- 
mander about  to  be  attacked  would  first  go  '  into  the  field '  before  he  finally  resolved 
to  trust  to  his  *  castle's  strength  '  ? 

Cl-ARENDON.  We  must  suppose  that  Macbeth  had  taken  the  field  to  suppress  tlic 
native  rebels  who  were  *  out,'  see  IV,  iii,  183,  and  that  the  arrival  of  their  English 
auxiliaries  had  compelled  him  to  retire  to  his  castle  at  Dunsinane. 

4.  nightgown]  Keightley.  This  was  the  name  of  the  night-dress  of  both  men 
and  women.  The  nightgown  was  only  used  by  persons  of  some  rank  and  consider- 
ation; people,  in  general,  went  to  bed  naked,  buffing  the  blanket,  as  it  was  termed 
in  Ireland.  It  may  be  here  observed,  W\'x\.  gmvn  was,  X\Vq.  gonna.  It.,  whence  it  is 
derived,  used  very  extensively  at  that  time.  We  have  sea-go^un^  Ham.,  V,  ii,  13,  for 
a  sailor's  outer  coat,  a  pilot-coat,  as  we  should  now  say.  [See  also  H,  ii,  70,  and 
V,  i,  57.  Ed.] 

5.  paper]  Ritter.  A  reminiscence  of  the  letter  which  she  received  from  Mac- 
beth. 


ACT  V,  sc.  i.J  AfA CBETH.  255 

benefit  of  sleep  and  do  the  effects  of  watching !  In  this  slumbery 
agitation,  besides  her  walking  and  other  actual  performances,  what, 
at  any  time,  have  you  heard  her  say  ?  1 1 

Gcfit,     That,  sir,  which  I  will  not  report  after  her. 

Doct,     You  may  to  me,  and  'tis  most  meet  you  should. 

Gent,  Neither  to  you  nor  any  one,  having  no  witness  to  con- 
firm my  speech. 

Enttr  Lady  Macbeth,  with  a  taper. 

Lo  you,  here  she  comes!  15 

This  is  her  very  guise,  and,  upon  my  life,  fast  asleep.  Observe 
her ;  stand  close. 

Doct,     How  came  she  by  that  light  ? 

Gejit,  Why,  it  stood  by  her :  she  has  light  by  her  continually ; 
'tis  her  command.  20 

Doct.     You  see,  her  eyes  are  open. 

Gent.     Ay,  but  their  sense  is  shut 

12.  report '\  r<r/^ff/ Warb.  conj.  Ff.     Queen,  Sta. 

15.     Enter...]    After   comes!    Dyce,  22.     sense  m]    Dav.     sense  are   Ff. 

Sta.  Hiids.  ii.  Rowe   i,   Mai.    Var.    Del.      sense*   are 

Lady  Macbeth,]    Rowe.     Lady,         Walker,  Dyce.     senses  are  Ktly. 

9.  watching]  Clarendon.  So  Holland's  Pliny ^  xiv,  18 :  *  It  is  reported  that 
the  Thasiens  doe  make  two  kinds  of  wine  of  contrary  operations :  the  one  procureth 
sleepe,  the  other  causeth  watching.*  In  the  first  line  of  this  scene  the  word  is  used 
in  our  modem  sense. 

9.  slumbery]  Halliwell.  *Slombrye,  slepysshe,  /«tf/f/.* — Palsgrave,  1530. 
*  Here  is  the  seat  of  soules,  the  place  of  sleepe  and  slumbry  night.' — Phaer's  Vir^il^ 
ed.  1600. 

For  other  instances  of  -y  appended  to  nouns  to  form  an  adjective,  see  Abbott, 

?  450- 

13.  Delius.  The  speeches  of  the  Doctor  in  this  scene  have  a  certain  cadence 
verging  on  blank  verse,  without  quite  gliding  into  it.  This  kind  of  rhythmical  prose 
Sh.  frequently  uses  when  changing  from  verse  to  prose,  in  order  to  soften  the  change 
from  the  one  to  the  other. 

22.  sense  is]  Walker  (  Vers.y  p.  243).  The  plurals  [and  possessive  cases — Ab- 
bott, \  471]  of  substantives  ending  in  j,  in  certain  instances;  in  se^  ssj  ee^  and  some- 
times in^^;  occasionally  too,  but  very  rarely,  in  j^,  and  ze ;  are  found  without  the 
usual  addition  of  s  or  es — in  pronunciation  at  least,  although,  in  many  instances,  the 
plural  affix  is  added  in  printing,  where  the  metre  shows  that  it  is  not  to  be  pro- 
nounced.    [This  passage  is  cited,  as  also  Son.   1 12:  * my  adder's  sense  To 

critic  and  to  flatterer  stopped  are.*  See  II,  iv,  14,  Ed.] 

White.  From  Sh.*s  use  of  'sense*  elsewhere,  it  would  seem  that  the  reading  of 
Fj  is  a  misprint,  due,  perhaps,  to  a  compositor's  mistaking  *  sense  *  for  a  plural  noun. 

Delius.  Sh.  wrote  are  on  account  of  the  plural  contained  in  *  their,*  and  because 
the  senses  of  two  eves  are  referred  to. 


256  MACBETH.  [act  v.  sc.  i. 

Doct,  What  is  it  she  does  now  ?  Look,  how  she  rubs  her 
hands. 

Gent,  It  is  an  accustomed  action  with  her,  to  seem  thus 
washing  her  hands :  I  have  known  her  continue  in  this  a  quarter 
of  an  hour.  27 

Lady  M,    Yet  here's  a  spot. 

Doct,  Harkl  she  speaks:  I  will  set  down  what  comes  from 
her,  to  satisfy  my  remembrance  the  more  strongly.  30 

Lady  M,  Out,  damned  spot!  out,  I  say! — One:  two:  why, 
then  'tis  time  to  do  *t. — Hell  is  murky! — Fie,  my  lord,  fie! 
a  soldier,  and  afeard?  What  need  we  fear  who  knows  it, 
when  none  can  call  our  power  to  account? — Yet  who  would 
have  thought  the  old  man  to  have  had  so  much  blood  in 
him  ?  36 

30.     [taking   out   his    Tables.   Cap.  33>  34*    fear  who... account  F']Thtoh. 

Coll.  ii,  (MS).  fearc?    who accompt :    F^F^,    Dav. 

satisfy\  fortified zxh.  fear ?  who. ..account :  F  F^.    fear  wh^ 

32.  murky  /]    Steev.      murky,    Ff,  ...account —  Rowe  ii,  Pope. 

Dav. -f,  Cap.  Jen.  Cam.  36.     him  f']   Rowe.     him.   Ff,   Dav. 

33.  af card  "^  afraid  Ko^tf  ■\-,  Glo.     him /Kni. 

Keightley.  I  rather  think  we  should  read  *  senses.*  Yet  'sense*  may  be  a  col- 
lective. 

Clarendon.  Perhaps  the  transcriber's  eye  was  caught  by  the  *  are '  of  the  preced- 
ing line.  See  Mer.  of  Ven.,  IV,  i,  255,  *  Are  there  balance  here  to  weigh,*  and 
Rich.  II :  IV,  i,  312,  *  Whither  you  will,  so  I  were  from  your  sights.' 

[See  Ant.  &  Cleop.,  II,  vii,  113,  'the  conquering  wine  hath  steep'd  our  sense.* 
Ed.] 

30.  satisfy]  Collier  (ed.  2).  We  feel  convinced  that  Sh.'s  word  was  fortify. 
The  (MS)  makes  no  emendation. 

32.  murky]  Steevens.  She  certainly  imagines  herself  here  talking  to  Macbeth, 
who  (she  supposes)  had  just  said.  Hell  is  murky  (i.  e.,  hell  is  a  dismal  place  to  go 
to  in  consequence  of  such  a  deed),  and  repeats  his  words  in  contempt  of  his 
cowardice. 

Clarke.  *  Hell  is  murky !' — that  grand  revealment  of  the  murderess's  soul-dread. 

Clarendon.  We  do  not  agree  with  Steevens.  Lady  Macbeth's  recollections  of 
the  deed,  and  its  motives,  alternate  with  recollections  of  her  subsequent  remorse, 
and  dread  of  future  punishment. 

34.  account]  Rushton  [Sh.  a  Lawyer .,  p.  37).  Reference  seems  to  be  here  made 
to  the  ancient  and  fundamental  principle  of  the  English  Constitution  that  the  king 
can  do  no  wrong. 

35.  so  much  blood]  Harry  Rowe.  It  is  well  known  that  as  we  advance  in  life 
the  arterial  system  increases  in  rigidity,  so  that  the  same  vessels  are  not  able  to  con- 
tain the  same  quantity  of  blood  as  in  youth. 

36.  blood  in  him]  Steevens.  Statins,  speaking  of  the  sword  by  which  an  old 
man  was  slain,  calls  it  egentcm  sanguinis  cnsem  ;  and  Ovid  (J/<r/.  1.  vii)  describing 


ACT  V,  sc.  i.]  MA  CBETH.  257 

Doct,     Do  you  mark  that  ? 

Lady  M.  The  thane  of  Fife  had  a  wife ;  where  is  she 
now?  —  What,  will  these  hands  ne'er  be  clean?— No  more 
o'  that,  my  lord,  no  more  o'  that:  you  mar  all  with  this 
starting.  41 

Doct,  Go  to,  go  to;  you  have  known  what  you  should 
not. 

Gent.  She  has  spoke  what  she  should  not,  I  am  sure  of  that : 
heaven  knows  what  she  has  known.  45 

Lady  M,      Here's    the    smell    of   the    blood    still :    all    the 

37.  [Writing]  Coll.  ii.  42,  43.     Go,..not,'\  Pope.    Two  lines, 

38.  [Sings.  Nicholson.*  Ff. 

had...where\  Had.,.WkereC^'^,  46.     of  the  blood ^    of  bloud   F^F^, 

40.  thi5\  om.  FjFjF^,  Pope,  Han.  Pope,  Han. 

a  wound  inflicted  on  a  superannuated  ram,  has  the  same  circumstance :  • gut- 

tura  cultro  Fodit,  et  exiguo  maculavit  savguine  ferrum.' 

Horn  (i,  79).  Such  cheap  learning  as  Steevens's  should  not  be  suffered  to  go  to 
waste,  and  it  is  almost  a  matter  of  gratitude  that  he  did  not  add  fifty  or  sixty  more 
similar  quotations,  which  might  have  been  gathered  easily  enough. 

39.  clean]  Steevens.  A  passage  somewhat  similar  occurs  in  Webster's  Vittoriq 

Corombona,  &c.,  1612  [vol.  i,  p.  146,  ed.  Dyce]  :  * Here's  a  white  hand:  Can 

blood  so  soon  be  wash'd  out  ?' 

Clarendon.  Certainly  Webster  had  Ham.,  IV,  v,  175,  in  his  mind  when  he  made 
Cornelia  say,  a  few  lines  before :  *  There's  rosemary  for  you ; — and  rue  for  you  ; — 
Heart's-ease  for  you.'  [Webster,  in  this  scene,  apparently  had  in  mind  Lear  and 
Cymbeline,  as  well  as  Hamlet.  Ed.] 

41.  starting]  Steevens.  Alluding  to  Macbeth's  terror  at  the  banquet. 

46.  smell]  Verplanck.  It  was,  I  believe,  Madame  de  Sta€l  who  said,  somewhat 
extravagantly,  that  the  smell  is  the  most  poetical  of  the  senses.  It  is  true,  that  the 
more  agreeable  associations  of  this  sense  are  fertile  in  pleasing  suggestions  of  placid, 
rural  beauty,  and  gentle  pleasures.  Sh.,  Spenser,  Ariosto,  and  Tasso  abound  in  such 
allusions.  Milton,  especially,  luxuriates  in  every  variety  of  *  odorous  sweets,'  and 
*  grateful  smells,'  delighted  sometimes  to  dwell  on  the  *  sweets  of  groves  and  fields,' 
the  native  perfumes  of  his  own  England — *  The  smell  of  grain,  or  tedded  grass,  01 
kine.  Or  daiiy; — '  and  sometimes  pleasing  his  imagination  with  the  'gentle  gales* 
laden  with  '  balmly  spoils '  of  the  East ;  and  breathing — *  Sabean  odours  from  the 
spicy  shores  Of  Araby  the  blest.'  But  the  smell  has  never  been  successfully  used  as 
a  means  of  impressing  the  imagination  with  terror,  pity,  or  any  of  the  deeper  emo- 
tions, except  in  this  dreadful  sleep-walking  scene  of  the  guilty  Queen,  and  in  one 
parallel  scene  of  the  Greek  drama,  as  wildly  terrible  as  this.  It  is  that  passage  of 
the  Agamemnon  of  yEschylus,  where  the  captive  prophetess,  Cassandra,  wrapt  in 
visionary  inspiration,  scents  first  the  smell  of  blood,  and  then  the  vapours  of  the 
tomb  breathing  from  the  palace  of  Atrides,  as  ominous  of  his  approaching  murder. 
These  two  stand  alone  in  poetry,  and  Fuseli,  in  his  lectures,  informs  us  that  when, 
in  the  kindred  art  of  painting,  it  has  been  attempted  to  produce  tragic  effect  through 
22  ♦  R 


258  MA  CBETH,  [ACT  v.  sc.  i. 

perfumes  of  Arabia  will  not  sweeten  this  little  hand.  Oh, 
oh,  oh ! 

Doci,     What  a  sigh  is  there !     The  heart  is  sorely  charged. 

Gent  I  would  not  have  such  a  heart  in  my  bosom  for  the 
dignity  of  the  whole  body.  5 1 

Doct.     Well,  well,  well,— 

Gent,     Pray  God  it  be,  sir. 

Doct,  This  disease  is  beyond  my  practice:  yet  I  have 
known  those  which  have  walked  in  their  sleep  who  have  died 
holily  in  their  beds.  56 

Lady  M,  Wash  your  hands ;  put  on  your  nightgown ;  look 
not  so  pale : — I  tell  you  yet  again,  Banquo*s  buried ;  he  cannot 
come  out  on  's  grave. 

Doct,     Even  so  ?  60 

Lady  M,  To  bed,  to  bed ;  there's  knocking  at  the  gate :  come, 
come,  come,  come,  give  me  your  hand :  what's  done  cannot  be 
undone :  to  bed,  to  bed,  to  bed.  [Exit, 

Doct.     Will  she  go  now  to  bed  ? 

Gent,     Directly.  65 

Doct,     Foul  whisperings  are  abroad :  unnatural  deeds 
Do  breed  unnatural  troubles :  infected  minds 

51.  the  dignity]  dignity  F^F^,  Rowe  55.  whith.^who]  who...to  H.  Rowe. 
i.  59.     on  'j]    of  his  Pope,   + ,  Steev. 

52.  7t/^//, — ]  Cap.  well — Rowe, +.  Var.  Sing,  i,  Del.  ^'jCap.  on  /iis¥A\y. 
well.  Ff,  Dav.  Del.  Sing,  ii,  Ktly.  63.     [Exit.]  Exit  Lady.  Ff. 

the  medium  of  ideas  drawn  from  this  *  squeamish  sense,'  even  Raphael  and  Poussin 
have  failed,  and  excited  disgust  instead  of  terror  or  compassion.  He  justly  remarks 
that  *  taste  and  smell,  as  sources  of  tragic  emotion,  seem  scarcely  admissible  in  art 
or  in  the  theatre,  because  their  extremes  are  nearer  allied  to  disgust,  or  loathsome  or 
risible  ideas  than  to  terror.' 

42.  Go  to]  Clarendon.  An  exclamation  implying  reproach  and  scorn.  Compare 
Ham.,  I,  iii,  112.  See  also  St  James,  iv,  13,  v,  i.  Elsewhere  it  implies  encourage- 
ment to  set  about  some  work,  like  the  French,  allons.     See  Genesis,  xi,  3,  4,  7. 

56.  beds]  Hunter  (ii,  197).  Sh.  was  afraid  lest  the  audience  should  go  away 
from  so  impressive  a  scene  as  this,  with  the  persuasion  that  sleep-walking  was  always 
to  be  taken  as  a  sign  of  a  burthened  conscience.  This  gentle  and  kind-hearted  man 
therefore  adds  this  expression  as  a  protection  of  the  persons  subject  to  it. 

58.  Banquo's]  Hunter  (ii,  197).  Query  if  it  ought  not  to  be  *  Duncan  '  ?  The 
mind  of  the  lady  seems  to  have  been  intent,  almost  entirely,  on  the  death  of  Duncan. 

59.  on's]  See  Abbott  (§  182),  and  I,  iii,  84.  Ed. 

60.  Even  so  ?]  Ritter.  The  Doctor  here  begins  to  discern  the  cause  of  the 
Lady's  sleep-walking.  Up  to  this  point  he  has  been  in  doubt  whether  it  be  due  to 
physical  or  mental  causes. 


ACT  V.  sc.  ii.]  MA  CBETH.  2  59 

To  their  deaf  pillows  will  discharge  their  secrets : 

More  needs  she  the  divine  than  the  physician. — 

God,  God  forgive  us  all ! — Look  after  her ;  70 

Remove  from  her  the  means  of  all  annoyance, 

And  still  keep  eyes  upon  her.     So  good  night : 

My  mind  she  has  mated  and  amazed  my  sight : 

I  think,  but  dare  not  speak. 

Gent.  Good  night,  good  doctor. 

[Exeunt, 


Scene  II.     The  country  near  Dunsinane, 

Drum  and  colours.    Enter  Menteith,  Caithness,  Angus,  Lennox,  and  Soldiers, 

Ment,     The  English  power  is  near,  led  on  by  Malcolm, 

70.  God^    God"]     Good   God  Pope,        a  Wood  at  Distance.  Rowe, +. 
Han.  Drum  and  colours]  om.  Rowe,  +• 

73.  sAe  Aas"]  sh^as  Pope,  -f .  Caithness]  Cathnes  Ff. 
mated'\  ^ mated  Cap.  (Errata.)                Lennox]  Lenx  F^. 

74.  [Exeunt.]  ...severally.  Cap.  and]  om.  Ff. 
The  country...]  Cap.     A  Field  with 

71.  annoyance]  Delius.  Lest  the  Lady  in  her  despair  might  commit  suicide. 
Clarendon.  This  word  was  used  in  a  stronger  sense  than  it  is  now, 

73.  mated]  Johnson.  Astonished,  confounded. 

Malone.  The  original  word  was  amate,  which  Bullokar,  1616,  defines  <to  dis- 
may, to  make  afraid.' 

Halliwell.  *  He  hath  utterly  mated  me.* — Palsgrave^  1530. 

Corson  (Note  on  'wynter,  that  him  naked  made  and  mate.' — Chaucer,  Legende 
of  Good  fVomenf  Vine  126).  Subdued,  dejected,  struck  dead;  Fr.  matS.  *  Whan  he 
seyh  hem  so  piteous  and  so  maatJ* — Cant.  TaleSt<)$T.  *0  Golias,...How  mighte 
David  make  thee  so  mate  ^ — Id,  5355.     The  word  still  lives  in  check-mate. 

Clarendon.  Cotgrave  has:  *  Mater.  To  mate,  or  giue  a  mate  vnto;  to  dead, 
amate,  quell,  subdue,  ouercome.*  The  word,  originally  used  at  chess,  from  the 
Arabic  sh&h  m&t^  *  the  king  is  dead,*  whence  our  *  check-mate,*  became  common  in 
one  form  or  other  in  almost  all  European  languages.  See  Bacon,  Essay  xv :  *  Be- 
sides, in  great  oppressions,  the  same  things,  that  provoke  the  patience,  doe  withall 
mate  the  courage.'  *  Mate,*  to  match,  is  of  Teutonic  origin.  Both  senses  of  the 
word  are  played  upon,  Com.  of  Err.,  Ill,  ii,  54.  We  have  the  form  *amated*  in 
Fairfax's  Tasso,  Bk  xi,  st.  12:  *Upon  the  walls  the  Pagans  old  and  young  Stood 
hush'd  and  still,  amatcd  and  amazed.* 

Hudson  (ed.  2).  I  suspect  that  the  matter  of  this  scene  is  too  sublime,  too  aus- 
terely grand,  to  admit  of  anything  so  artificial  as  the  measured  language  of  verse; 
and  that  the  Poet,  as  from  an  instinct  of  genius,  felt  that  any  attempt  to  heighten  the 
effect  by  any  arts  of  delivery  would  impair  it.     The  very  diction  of  the  closing 


260  MACBETH.  [act  v,  sc.  ii. 

His  uncle  Siward  and  the  good  Macduff: 

Revenges  burn  in  them ;  for  their  dear  causes 

Would  to  the  bleeding  and  the  grim  alarm  4 

Excite  the  mortified  man. 

2.     Siward  1   Theob.     Seyward  Ff,        Anon.* 
Ktly.  4.     om.  F^FjF^,  Rowe. 

3-5.    for,...man^  om.   as   spurious,  5.     mortified'\  milkiest  Anon.* 

speech,  nobly  poetical  as  it  is,  must  be  felt  by  every  competent  reader  as  a  letting 
down  to  a  lower  intellectual  plane.  Is  prose  then,  after  all,  a  higher  style  of  speech 
than  verse  ?  There  are  parts  of  the  New  Testament  which  no  possible  arts  of  versi- 
fication could  fail  to  enfeeble. 

2.  uncle]  See  Appendix,  p.  364. 

French  (p.  296)  shows  that  *  warlike  Siward  *  had  a  truer  claim  than  Banquo  to 
be  called  the  ancestor  of  kings  *  That  two-fold  balls  and  treble  sceptres  carry.' 

3.  Revenges]  Clarendon.  For  other  similar  plurals  see  Tim.,  V,  iv,  16,  17, 
and  *  loves  *  in  V,  viii,  6 1,  of  this  play. 

dear]  See  Rom.  &  Jul.,  V,  iii,  32. 

4.  the. ..the]  Abbott  (J  92).  The  is  used  to  denote  notoriety.  Thus  we  fre- 
quently speak  of  ^ the  air.'  Bacon  (E.  231)  however  wrote,  ^The  matter  (the  sub- 
stance called  matter)  is  in  a  perpetual  flux.* 

bleeding]  Capell  (ii,  28).  A  substantive,  meaning  blood,  or  actions  of  blood. 
Clarendon.  Compare  *  bleeding  war,'   Rich.  II :  III,  iii,  94.     But  it  is  more 
startling  to  find  it  joined  with  *  alarm,'  which  is  only  the  prelude  to  battle. 

5.  mortified]  Theobald.  That  is  the  man  who  had  abandoned  himself  to  De- 
spair, who  had  no  Spirit  or  Resolution  left. 

Warburton.  That  is,  a  Religious  man ;  one  who  has  subdued  his  passions,  is 
dead  io  the  world,  has  abandoned  it,  and  all  the  affairs  of  it;  an  Ascetic. 

Steevens.  So,  in  Monsieur  D^  Olive y  1606:  *  He  like  a  mortified  hermit  sits.' 
And  in  Greene's  Never  too  LatCy  1616:  '  I  perceive  in  the  words  of  the  hermit  the 
perfect  idea  of  a  r/iorttyied  man.*     Again  in  Love's  Lab.,  I,  i,  28. 

Knight.  One  indifferent  to  the  concerns  of  the  world,  but  who  would  be  excited 
to  fight  by  such  *  causes '  of  revenge  as  Macduff  comes  with. 

Elwin.  The  expression  is  derived  from  St  I\'iul,  Rom.,  viii,  13;  Col.,  iii,  5. 

White.  The  wrongs  of  Malcolm,  Siward,  and  Macduff  would  *  provoke  a  saint.' 

Clarendon.  Johnson  [Dict.y  s.  v)  quotes  this  passage  to  illustrate  the  sense  he 
gives  to  'mortify,'  viz.,  *  to  macerate  or  harass,  in  order  to  re(hicc  the  body  to  com- 
pliance with  the  mind.'  We  have  the  word  in  this  sense.  Love's  Lab.,  I,  i,  28; 
also  Lear,  II,  iii,  15,  where  '  mortified '  means  *  deadened  with  cold  and  hunger.' 
But  in  the  present  passage  such  a  sense  seems  scarcely  forcible  enough.  May  it  not 
mean  *  the  dead  man  '  ?  '  mortified  '  in  the  literal  sense.  So  Erasmus,  on  the  Creed, 
Eng.  Ir.,  fol.  Sla :  *  Christ  was  mortified  and  killed  in  dcde  as  touchynge  to  his 
fleshe :  but  was  quickened  in  spirite.'  In  Hen.  V:  I,  i,  26,  'mortified,'  though 
figuratively  applied,  does  not  mean  '  subdued  by  a  course  of  asceticism.'  Both  senses 
are  combined  in  Jul.  Cces.,  II,  i,  324.  If  'the  mortified  man'  really  means  'the 
dead,'  the  word  *  bleeding'  in  the  former  line  may  have  been  suggested  by  the  well- 
known  superstition  that  the  corpse  of  a  murdered  man  bled  afresh  in  the  presence 
of  the  murderer.     It  is  true  that  this  interpretation  gives  an  extravagant  sense,  but 


ACT  V.  sc.  ii.]  MA  CBE  TH.  2  6 1 

Ang,  Near  Birnam  wood  5 

Shall  we  well  meet  them ;  that  way  are  they  coming. 

Caith.     Who  knows  if  Donalbain  be  with  his  brother? 

Len,     For  certain,  sir,  he  is  not :  I  have  a  file 
Of  all  the  gentry :  there  is  Siward's  son, 

And  many  unrough  youths,  that  even  now  10 

Protest  their  first  of  manhood. 

Ment  What  does  the  tyrant  ? 

Caith,'   Great  Dunsinane  he  strongly  fortifies; 
Some  say  he's  mad ;  others,  that  lesser  hate  him, 
Do  call  it  valiant  fury :  but,  for  certain. 
He  cannot  buckle  his  distemper'd  cause  15 

6.     well^  om.  F^F^,  Rowe  i.  11.     tyrant  f\  tyrant.  F,F,Fj,  Dav. 

8.     /  have]  Pve  Pope,  +,  Dyce  ii,  13.     kate\  hates  F^F^. 

Huds.  ii.  15.     cause]  course  Walker,  Sing,  ii, 

10.     unrough]  Theob.    unruffe  F^F^.  Dyce,  Coll.  ii  (MS),  Huds.  ii.     corse 

unruff  FjF^.     unrujf^d  Pope.  Anon.* 

we  have  to  choose  between  extravagance  and  feebleness.  The  passage,  indeed,  as 
it  stands  in  the  text,  does  not  read  like  Sh.'s. 

10.  unrough]  Theobald.  Unruffe  of  the  old  eds.  was  the  antiquated  way  of 
spelling  *  unrough,'  i.e.,  smooth-chin'd,  imberbis.  And  our  Author  particularly 
delights  in  this  Mode  of  Expression.  As  in  Love's  Lab.,  V,  ii,  838;  Twelfth 
Night,  III,  i,  51 ;  Ant.  and  Cleo.,  I,  i,  21 ;  Hen.  V:  HI,  chor.  22,  23;  Temp.  H, 
i,  250;  King  John,  V,  ii,  133. 

Monk  Mason.  Read,  perhaps,  unwrought^  or,  perhaps,  Sh.  uses  *  unrough '  for 
roughs  as  Jonson  does  '  unrude '  for  rude.  See  Every  Man  out  of  his  Humour 
[vol.  ii,  p.  132,  ed.  Gifford,  where,  on  the  phrase  '  how  the  unrude  rascal  backbites 
him !'  the  editor  says,  ^Un  is  commonly  used  in  composition  as  a  negative,  as  *  un- 
thankful,'  &c. ;  here,  however,  it  seems  to  be  employed  as  an  augmentative.  Unless, 
indeed,  *  unrude '  be  synonymous  with  the  primitive  rude^  as  f/»loose  probably  is 
with  loosed  &c.  Ed.] 

Collier  (ed.  2).  It  is  proper  to  mention  that  the  (MS)  has  untough^  i.  e.,  tender. 

15.  cause]  See  Lettsom's  Preface^  p.  xxi,  to  Walker's  Vers.^  &c.,  where  the 
latter's  emendation  of  course  is  quoted.  Ed. 

Collier  (AW«,  &c.,  p.  415).  The  (MS)  substitutes,  and  with  apparent  reason, 
course  for  *  cause ' ;  it  was  not  Macbeth's  *  cause  '  but  his  course  of  action  that  was 
distempered. 

Singer  {Sh.  Vind.^  &c.,  p.  258).  There  is  certainly  some  reason,  from  the  con- 
text, to  think  *  cause  *  should  be  changed  to  course. 

Blackwood's  Magazine  (Oct.  1853,  p.  461).  'Cause*  fits  the  place  perfectly 
well,  if  taken  for  his  affairs  generally,  his  whole  system  of  procedure. 

Dyce.  But  will  the  context  allow  us  to  take  it  in  that  sense  ?  The  words  'course* 
and  *  cause*  are  often  confounded  by  printers. 

Dalgleish.  His  cause  is  not  one  that  can  be  carried  on  by  the  usual  expedients; 
his  excitement  is  either  madness  or  rage. 


262  MA  CBETH.  [act  v,  sc.  ii 

Within  the  belt  of  rule. 

Ang.  u  Now  does  he  feel 

His  secret  murders  sticking  on  his  hands; 
Now  minutely  revolts  upbraid  his  faith-breach ; 
Those  he  commands  move  only  in  command, 
Nothing  in  love :  now  does  he  feel  his  title  20 

Hang  loose  about  him,  like  a  giant's  robe 
Upon  a  dwarfish  thief 

Menu  Who  then  shall  blame 

His  pester'd  senses  to  recoil  and  start, 
When  all  that  is  within  him  does  condemn 
Itself  for  being  there  ? 

Caith,  Well,  march  we  on,  25 

To  give  obedience  where  'tis  truly  owed : 
Meet  we  the  medicine  of  the  sickly  weal, 

25.  there  ?'\  Dav.  there,  Ff,  Rowe,  Jen.  Sing,  ii,  Sta.  White,  medecin  Warb. 
Cap.  conj.  Steev.  Var.  Sing.  i.    mecfcin  Han. 

27.     tnedicine'\Ysi\,   Med'' cine Y{y->r ^        Cap.     m^</iWff  Rann. 

Staunton.  Surely  change  [to  *cour5e'*'\  may  be  dispensed  with  here. 

Clarendon.  We  have  the  same  metaphor  in  Tro.  and  Cress.,  II,  ii,  30.  The 
*  distemper'd  cause '  is  the  disorganized  party,  the  disordered  body  over  which  he 
rules.  Instead  of  being  like  a  •  well-girt  man,'  ei^ijvog  av^p,  full  of  vigour,  his  state 
is  like  one  in  dropsy.  We  have  the  same  metaphor  more  elaborated  in  2  Hen.  IV ; 
III,  i,  38,  sqq. 

Hudson  (ed.  2).   Cause  is  evidently  wrong. 

18.  minutely]  Delius.  This  may  be  taken  either  as  an  adjective  or  adverb, 
although  the  former  construction  is  the  more  natural,  especially  as  the  word  is  to  be 
found  as  an  adjective  in  earlier  writers. 

23.  pester'd]  Clarendon.  Hampered,  troubled,  embarrassed.  Cotgravc  gives : 
^Empestrer,  To  pester,  intricate,  intangle,  trouble,  incomber.'  The  first  sense  of  the 
word  appears  to  be  *  to  hobble  a  horse,  or  other  animal,  to  prevent  it  straying.'  So 
Milton,  Comust  7  :  *  Confined  and  pester'd  in  this  pinfold  here.*  Hence  used  of  any 
continuous  annoyance. 

to]  See  IV,  ii,  69.     Abbott,  J  356. 

25.  there]  Johnson.  That  is,  when  all  the  faculties  of  the  mind  are  employed  in 
self-condemnation. 

27.  medicine]  Warburton.  We  should  read  medicin^  i.  e.,  the  physician.  Both 
the  sense  and  pronoun  *  him  *  in  the  next  line  require  it. 

Heath  (p.  407).  Malcolm  is  denoted  by  *the  medicine  of  the  sickly  weal,*  and 
to  him,  and  not  to  the  medicine,  the  pronoun,  *  him,'  refers. 

Steevens.  See  All's  Well,  II,  i,  74;  and  Wint.  Tale,  IV,  iv,  598. 

Clarendon.  It  may  be  doubted  whether  this  word  is  here  to  be  taken  in  its 
modem  sense,  as  the  following  line  inclines  us  to  believe,  or,  according  to  most 
commentators,  in  the  sense  of  *  physician.'     Florio  has:   *  Medico:  a  medicine,  a 


ACT  V,  sc.  iii.]  AfA CBETH.  2 63 

And  with  him  pour  we,  in  our  country's  purge, 
Each  drop  of  us. 

Len,  Or  so  much  as  it  needs 

To  dew  the  sovereign  flower  and  drown  the  weeds.  30 

Make  we  our  march  towards  Birnam.  [Exeunt,  marching. 


Scene  III.    Dunsinane,    A  room  in  the  castle. 

Enter  Macbeth,  Doctor,  and  Attendants. 

Macb.     Bring  me  no  more  reports ;  let  them  fly  all  : 
Till  Birnam  wood  remove  to  Dunsinane 
I  cannot  taint  with  fear.     What's  the  boy  Malcolm  ? 
Was  he  not  born  of  woman  ?     The  spirits  that  know 
All  mortal  consequences  have  pronounced  me  thus  :  5 

*  Fear  not,  Macbeth ;  no  man  that's  born  of  woman 

31.     Make  we']  Make  me  Theob.  i.  Pope.    om.  Ff,  Dav. 

Make  up  Theob.  ii,  Warb.  Johns.  2.     Birnam]  Bymane  F^,  Dav.  Byr* 

Birnam]  Biman  F,.  nam  F,. 

[Exeunt,  marching.]  Ff.  Exeunt  4.     The  spirits]  Spirits  Pope,  + ,  Cap. 

Rowe,  +.  5.     consequences  have]    consequents, 

Dunsinane.     A  room  in  the  castle.]  Steev.  consequence,  have  Sing,  i,  Huds.  i. 

Cap.     The  Castle.  Rowe.     Dunsinane.  me  thus]  it  Pope,  + .    me  Cap. 

phisition,  a  leach.'  Minsheu,  1599,  and  Cotgrave,  i6ii,  only  recognise  'medicine' 
in  the  modem  sense. 

Hudson  (ed.  2).  In  the  olden  time  the  best  remedy  for  the  evils  of  tyranny,  or 
the  greater  evils  of  civil  war,  was  thought  to  be  a  king  with  a  clear  and  unques- 
tioned title. 

30,  sovereign]  Clarendon.  Two  ideas  are  suggested  by  this  epithet,  royal  or 
supreme,  and  powerfully  remedial,  the  latter  continuing  the  metaphor  of  lines  27-29. 
For  the  latter,  compare  Cor.,  II,  i,  127. 

3.  taint]  Walker  (Crit.,  iii,  259).  Is  this  correct  English?  Yet  Sh.  could 
scarcely  have  written  faint.  K  faint  is  right,  f  may  have  been  corrupted  into  /  by 
the  neighborhood  of  the  two  other  /*s. 

Clarendon.  Comp.  Twelfth  Night,  III,  iv,  145.  The  word  is  rarely  used,  as  in 
these  two  passages,  intransitively,  but  there  is  no  ground  for  suspecting  the  genuine- 
ness of  the  text,  nor  for  adopting  Walker's  conjecture.  We  have  something  the 
same  metaphor  in  3  Hen.  VI :  III,  i,  40. 

5.  consequences]  Walker  (Vers.,  p.  274).  We  sometimes  find  two  unaccented 
syllables  inserted  between  what  are  ordinarily  the  fourth  and  fifUi,  or  sixth  and  sev- 
enth, the  whole  form  being  included  in  one  word. 

[See  Abbott  and  Ellis,  IV,  ii,  72.  Ed.] 

me]  Clarendon.  '  Me '  here  may  either  be  dative  or  accusative,  and  the  sense 


264  MACBETH.  [act  v,  sc.  iii. 

Shall  e'er  have  power  upon  thee.'     Then  fly,  false  thanes, 

And  mingle  with  the  English  epicures : 

The  mind  I  sway  by  and  the  heart  I  bear 

Shall  never  sag  with  doubt  nor  shake  with  fear.  10 

7.     upon'\  on  Steev.  9.    sway"]  stay  Anon.* 

Thenjly\  Fly  Pope,  Han. 

either  *  The  spirits  have  pronounced  thus  in  my  case,'  or  *  The  spirits  have  pro- 
nounced nie  to  be  thus  circumstanced.' 

8.  epicures]  Theobald.  Hardicanute,  a  Contemporary  of  Macbeth,  and  who 
reigned  here  just  before  the  Usurpation  of  the  latter  in  Scotland^  was  such  a  Lover 
of  good  Cheer  that  he  would  have  his  Table  cover*d  four  times  a  day,  and  largely 
fumish'd.  Now  as  Edward,  his  successor,  sent  a  Force  against  Scotland,  Macbeth 
malevolently  b  made  to  charge  this  temperate  Prince  (in  his  subjects)  with  the  Riots 
of  his  Predecessor. 

Johnson.  The  reproach  of  epicurism  is  nothing  more  than  a  natural  invective 
uttered  by  an  inhabitant  of  a  barren  country  against  those  who  have  more  opportu- 
nities of  luxury. 

Steevens.  Sh.  took  the  thought  from  Holinshed,  pp.  179,  180:  * the  Scotish 

people  before  had  no  knowledge  nor  understanding  of  fine  fare  or  riotous  surfet ;  yet 
after  they  had  once  tasted  the  sweet  poisoned  bait  thereof,'  &c.  * those  super- 
fluities which  came  into  the  realme  of  Scotland  with  the  Englishmen^  &c.  Again : 
<  For  manie  of  the  people  abhorring  the  riotous  maners  and  superfluous  gormandizing 
brought  in  among  them  by  the  Englyshemen^  were  willing  inough  to  receiue  this 
Donald  for  their  king,  trusting  (bicause  he  had  beene  brought  up  in  the  Isles,  with 
old  customes  and  maners  of  their  ancient  nation,  without  last  of  the  English  likerous 
delicats)  they  should  by  his  seuere  order  in  gouemement  recouer  againe  the  former 
temperance  of  their  old  progenitors.' 

Harry  Rowe.  Henry  Wardlaw,  Bishop  of  St  Andrews,  made  a  long  harangue 
before  the  King  in  a  Parliament  at  Perth,  in  1433,  against  that  new  and  extravagant 
mode  of  living  introduced  by  the  English ;  and  in  consequence  of  that  speech  an 
act  of  Parliament  was  made  regulating  the  manner  in  which  persons  of  all  orders 
should  live. 

Hunter  (ii,  198).  It  may  be  doubted  whether  Sh.  had  any  thought  of  comparing 
the  fare  of  the  Scottish  nation  with  that  of  the  English,  the  sumptuous  feasting  of 
the  latter  being  a  common  topic  of  reproach.     So,  Ariosto,  Canto  viii,  st.  24. 

Delius.  In  the  spurious  play  of  King  Edward  III,  the  tippling  Hollanders  are 
thus  alluded  to:  *  those  ever-bibbing  epicures,  those  frothy  Dutchmen,  puff'd  with 
double  beer.' 

Clarendon.  Gluttony  was  a  common  charge  brought  by  the  Scotch  against  their 
wealthier  neighbours.  *  The  English  pock-puddings '  is  a  phrase  of  frequent  occur- 
rence in  the  Waverley  novels.  The  English  too  brought  similar  charges  against  their 
continental  neighbours. 

9.  sway]  Clarendon.  The  mind  by  which  my  movements  are  directed,  as  in 
Twelfth  Night,  II,  iv,  32.  The  other  interpretation,  *  The  mind  by  which  I  bear 
rule,'  is  not  impossible. 

10.  sag]  ToLLET.  To  sagt  or  swag^  is  to  sink  down  by  its  own  weight,  or  by  an 
overload.     It  is  common  in  Staffordshire  to  say  *  a  beam  sags,^ 


ACT  V,  sc.  iii.]  MA  CBETH.  2 65 

Enter  a  Servant. 

The  devil  damn  thee  black,  thou  cream-faced  loon ! 
Where  got'st  thou  that  goose  look  ? 

Serv,     There  is  ten  thousand — 

Macb,  Geese,  villain  ? 

Serv,  Soldiers,  sir. 

Macb,     Go  prick  thy  face  and  over-red  thy  fear, 
Thou  lily-liver'd  boy.     What  soldiers,  patch?  15 

10.  Enter  a  Servant.]  Enter  Servant.  12.  goose  look"]  Goose-/ooJteFf,Da.y,-\-. 
FjF^.  Enter  an  Attendant,  hastily.  Cap.  13.  is]  are  Rowe, +,Jen. 

1 1 .  loon\  Loone  F^F^.    Lown  F  ,  + .  thousand — ]     Rowe.     thousand, 

12.  goose]  ghost  Rann,  conj.  Ff,  Cap. 

Nares.  To  swag  is  now  used,  and  is  perhaps  more  proper.  To  sagg  on,  to  walk 
heavily :  So  Nash's  Pierce  Penniiesse,  vii,  15  :  *  When  sir  Rowland  Russet- coat,  their 
dad,  goes  sagging  every  day  in  his  round  gascoynes  of  white  cotton.' 

FoRBY  (  Vbcab,  of  East  Anglia),  To  fail,  or  give  way,  from  weakness  in  itself,  or 
over-loaded.  With  us  it  is  perfectly  distinct  from  swag.  [To  the  same  purport, 
Carr,  Craven  Dialect.  Ed.] 

Clarendon.  Mr  Atkinson,  in  his  Glossary,  mentions  '  sag '  as  being  still  in  use  in 
Cleveland,  Yorkshire.  We  have  heard  a  railway  porter  apply  it  to  the  leathern  top 
of  a  carriage  weighed  down  with  luggage. 

[A  word  of  every-day  use  in  America  among  mechanics  and  engineers.  Ed.] 

Wedgewood.  To  sink  gradually  down,  to  be  depressed ;  properly,  to  sink  as  the 
surface  of  water  leaking  away  or  sucked  up  through  the  cracks  of  the  vessel  in  which 
it  is  contained. 

II.  loon]  Coleridge  (i,  175).  A  passion  there  is  that  carries  off  its  own  excess 
by  plays  on  words  as  naturally,  and,  therefore,  as  appropriately  to  drama,  as  by  ges- 
ticulations, looks,  or  tones.  This  belongs  to  human  nature  as  such,  independently 
of  associations  and  habits  from  any  particular  rank  of  life  or  mode  of  employment ; 
and  in  this  consists  Sh.'s  vulgarisms  [as  in  this  line].  This  is  (to  equivocate  on 
Dante's  words)  in  truth  nobile  volgare  eloquenza. 

Chambers.  A  *  loon '  was  a  rogue,  or  worthless  fellow ;  also  a  half-grown  lad. 
The  phrase  is  still  common  in  Scotland,  and  in  some  districts  is  jocularly  applied  to 
all  the  natives, — as  *  Morayshire  loons,'  which  has  a  signification  similar  to  the  Irish 
saying,  *  the  boys  of  Kilkenny.' 

Clarendon.  [*  Loon ']  corresponds  to  the  Scottish  and  Northern  pronunciation, 
[*  lown  *  of  FJ  to  the  Southern.  It  is  spelt  *  lown*  or  *  lownc*  in  0th.,  II,  iii,  95, 
and  Per.,  IV,  vi,  19. 

13.  is]  See  II,  i,  61 ;  and  II,  iii,  137. 

14.  face. ..fear]  Walker  {Crit.,  iii,  259).  Note  this  for  the  broad  pronunciation 
of  ea. 

15.  patch]  Douce  (i,  257).  It  has  been  supposed  that  this  term  originated  from 
the  name  of  a  fool  belonging  to  Cardinal  Wolsey,  and  that  his  parti-coloured  dress 
was  given  to  him  in  allusion  to  his  name.  The  objection  to  this  is,  that  the  motley 
habit  worn  by  fools  is  much  older  than  the  time  of  Wolsey.     Again,  it  appears  that 

2^ 


2  66  MA  CBETH.  [act  v,  sc.  ui. 

Death  of  thy  soul !  those  linen  cheeks  of  thine 
Are  counsellors  to  fear.     What  soldiers,  whey-face  ? 

Serv,    The  English  force,  so  please  you. 

Macb.     Take  thy  face  hence. —  \Exit  Servant 

Seyton ! — I  am  sick  at  heart. 
When  I  behold — Seyton,  I  say ! — This  push  20 

Will  cheer  me  ever,  or  dis-ease  me  now. 

17.     whey-face]  Dav.    whay-face  Ft,  Errata)  Dyce  ii,  Huds.  ii. 

Rowe.  21.     cAeer]  cheere  F^F^.     chear  Dav. 

19.     [Exit  Servant.]  Sing,  ii,  Dyce,  Jen.     chair  Percy,  Sing,  ii,  Dyce,  Coll. 

Sta.  White,  Ktly,  Glo.  Cam.  Cla.  Huds.  ii  (MS),  Sta.  White,  Chambers,  Kemble, 

ii.    om.  Ff  et  cet.  Huds.  ii. 

19,20.     Seyton,..say  I — ]  Rowe.  Sey-  dis-ease]  "EA.  dis-eateY^,  disease 

ton,  L,.hart^,.. behold :  Seytoftf  I  say,  Yi,  F^F^F^,  Rowe,  +,  Cap.     dis-eat  Dav. 

Dav.  defeat  Daniel,  Wetherell.     disseat  Cap. 

19.     I  am\  Fm  Pope,  +,  Cap.   (in  and  Jen.  conj.  Steev.  et  cet. 

Patch  was  an  appellation  given  not  to  one  fool  only  that  belonged  to  Wolsey.  There 
is  an  epigram  by  Hey  wood,  entitled  A  saying  of  Patch  my  lord  CardinaF  s  foole  ; 
but  in  the  epigram  itself  he  is  twice  called  Sexten,  which  was  his  real  name.  In  a 
MS  Life  of  Wolsey,  by  his  gentleman  usher  Cavendish  [now  well  known  from  the 
printed  copy — Dyce]  there  is  a  story  of  another  fool  belonging  to  the  Cardinal,  and 
presented  by  him  to  the  King.  A  marginal  note  states  that  *  this  foole  was  callid 
Master  Williames,  owtherwise  called  Patch.*  In  Heylin's  History  of  the  Reforma' 
tion  mention  is  made  of  another  fool  called  Patch  belonging  to  Elizabeth.  But  the 
name  is  even  older  than  Wolsey*s  time ;  for  in  some  household  accounts  of  Henry 
VII  there  are  payments  to  a  fool  who  is  named  Pechie  and  Packye,  It  seems  there- 
fore more  probable  on  the  whole  that  fools  were  nick-named  Patch  from  their  dress ; 
unless  there  happen  to  be  a  nearer  affinity  to  the  Italian /azs^,  a  word  that  has  all  the 
appearance  of  a  descent  from  fatuus.  This  was  the  opinion  of  Tyrwhitt  in  a  note 
on  Mid.  N.  D.,  Ill,  ii,  9.  But  although  in  [Mer.  of  Ven.,  II,  v,  46]  as  well  as  in 
a  -multitude  of  others,  a  patch  denotes  a  fool  or  simpleton,  and,  by  corruption,  a 
clown,  it  seems  to  have  been  used  in  the  sense  of  any  low  or  mean  person.  Thus 
Puck  calls  Bottom  and  his  companions  a  crew  of  patches,  rude  mechanicalls,  certainly 
not  meaning  to  compare  them  to  pampered  and  sleek  buffoons.  Whether  in  this 
sense  the  term  have  a  simple  reference  to  that  class  of  people  whose  clothes  might 
be  pieced  or  patched  with  rags ;  or,  whether  it  is  to  be  derived  from  the  Saxon  verb 
paean,  to  deceive  by  false  appearances,  as  suggested  by  Home  Tooke,  must  be  left 
to  the  reader's  own  discernment. 

Clarendon.  Florio  gives :  *Pazzo,  a  foole,  a  patch,  a  mad-man,*  and  this  seems 
the  most  probable  derivation  of  the  word.  The  derivation  from  the  patched  or  mot- 
ley coat  of  the  jester  seems  to  be  supported  by  Mid.  N.  D.,  IV,  i,  237,  where  Bottom 
says :  *  Man  is  but  a  patched  fool.' 

17.  fear]  Warburton.  They  infect  others  who  see  them  with  cowardice. 

Steevens.  In  Hen.  V :  II,  ii,  74,  *  Their  cheeks  are  paper.* 

21.  cheer  .  .  .  dis-ease]  Steevens.  Dr  Percy  would  read,  *  Will  chair  me 
ever,  or  disseat  me  now.* 

Elwin.  Setting  aside  the  absurdity  of  a  king  being  chaired  by  a  push,  *  cheer '  is 


ACT  V.  sc.  iii.]  MACBETH.  267 

I  have  lived  long  enough :  my  way  of  life  22 

22.  wayl  May  Johns,  copj.  Steev.  1778,  1785,  H.  Rowe,  Coll.  ii  (MS),  day 
Cartwright. 

the  evident  antithesis  to  <  I  am  sick  at  heart.*  The  image  represented  appears  to  be 
the  pushing  or  passing  on  of  the  wine  cup,  for  that  parting  draught  which  will  either 
raise  the  spirits  of  the  drinker  to  the  utmost,  or  else  entirely  subdue  or  bear  him  to 
the  ground. 

Collier  (Notes,  &c.,  p.  415).  In  Cor.,  IV,  vii,  52  we  have  'cheer*  misprinted 
chair;  and  here,  if  we  may  trust  the  (MS),  we  have  chair  misprinted  *  cheer.*  .  .  . 
As  we  are  to  take  *disseat*  in  the  sense  of  unseat,  there  can  be  little  objection  to 
understanding  chair^  as  having  reference  to  the  royal  seat  or  throne  which  Macbeth 
occupies,  and  from  which  he  dreads  removal.  •  .  .  Percy's  suggestion  is  confirmed 
by  a  much  anterior  authority. 

Haluwell.  a  push  does  not  usually  chair  a  person,  though  it  may  disseat  him. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  Does  Mr  Halliwell,  then,  think  that '  a  push  usually  cheers  a  per 
son  *  ?  .  .  .  That  *  cheere  *  is  a  mistake  for  *chaire^  I  should  have  felt  confident  even 
if  I  had  never  known  that  the  latter  word  was  substituted  both  by  Percy  and  by  Col- 
lier's (MS).     Chair,  in  the  sense  of  throne,  was  very  common.     See  Rich.  Ill :  V, 

iii,  251.     So  too  in  Peele's  David  and  Bethsabe  :  * as  king — be  depos'd  from 

his  detested  chair, ^ — Works,  p.  478,  ed.  Dyce,  1 861. 

White.  \Cheer  for  'chair*  is]  a  mere  phonographic  irregularity  of  spelling. 
'  Chair  *  is  pronounced  cheer  even  now  by  some  old-fashioned  folk.  Mother  Groose 
among  them :  '  She  went  to  the  Ale  house  To  fetch  him  some  beer,  And  when  she 
came  back  The  dog  sat  on  a  chair.* 

Clarke.  Uneasiness  of  mind  and  body  are  the  theme  throughout  Macbeth*s  rumi- 
nations  here.  Note,  in  corroboration  [of  '  cheer  *],  that '  cheer  *  and  '  sick  *  are  used 
with  similar  antithesis  in  Ham.,  Ill,  ii,  173 :  '  You  are  so  sick  of  late,  So  far  from 
cheer,*  &c. 

Bailey  (ii,  41).  I  submit  the  following  reading  for  consideration  without  feeling 
much  confidence  in  it :  '  Will  charter  me  ever  or  disseize  me  now.*  Where  charter 
is,  of  course,  to  be  compressed  into  a  monosyllable,  and  disseize  is  a  law  term  for 
dispossess.  '  Will  clear  me  ever,'  &c.,  would  be  more  Sh.*n  than  '  cheer  me  ever,' 
and  would  form  no  bad  reading. 

Ellis  ( The  Athemeum,  25  January,  1868).  At  present  chair  and  cheer  generally 
rhyme  with  there  and  here,  but  they  are  not  unfrequently  pronounced  by  the  peas- 
antry as  rhymes  to  here  only,  and  many  old  gentlemen  may,  perhaps,  still  be  met 
with  who  pronounce  break,  great,  steak,  and  chair  with  the  same  vowel  e  in  here. 
Compared  to  our  present  pronunciation,  this  is  old ;  compared  to  Sh.*s,  it  is  very 
young.  It  was  not  generally  prevalent  till  about  the  middle  of  the  eighteenth  cen- 
tury, and  never  seems  to  have  really  succeeded,  although  it  was  largely  adopted. 
The  word  chair  is  spelt  chayere  in  the  Promptorium,  1440,  chayre  in  Palsgrave,  1530, 
and  Levins,  1 570,  and  in  F,  it  is  chaire.  Now  the  sound  of  the  digraph  ai  was  that 
we  generally  give  to  Isaiah,  aye,  or  the  Etonian  Greek  kox,  during  the  whole  of  the 
sixteenth  century,  and  did  not  assume  its  present  sound  as  ^  in  there  till  well  on  in 
the  seventeenth  century.  For  myself,  I  feel  no  doubt  that  Sh.*s  chaire  rhymed  to 
the  Etonian  x^Pi  ^^^  ^^  the  German  Feier,  which  is  a  so-called  broad  sound  of  the 
modern  English  Jire,  Now  as  to  cheer.  The  word  is  *cheere,  vultus,*  and  *cheryn, 
or  make  good  chere,  hillaro,  exhillaro,  letifico  *  in  the  Promptorium ;  *chere,  acveil,* 


268  MACBETH.  [act  v,  sc.  iii. 

Is  fairn  into  the  sear,  the  yellow  leaf,  23 

in  Palsgrave ;  Uheare^  exhilarare,  cheareful^  hilaris/  in  Levins ;  cheare  in  Rom.  and 
Jul.,  Q, ;  generally  cheere  in  F, ;  but  usually  throughout  the  seventeenth  century, 
and  into  the  eighteenth,  it  is  chear,  •  These  orthographies  are  significant.  Down  to 
the  beginning  of  the  fifteenth  century  long  e  or  double  ee^  both  of  which  were  com- 
mon, and  ea  (which  was  rarely,  if  ever,  used,  except  occasionally  in  ease,  pieasf,  and 
their  derivatives)  had  the  sound  of  e  in  there  only.  The  fifteenth  century,  with  its 
civil  wars,  greatly  altered  our  pronunciation,  and  in  particular  many  /s  fell  into  the 
sound  of  e  in  here,  .  .  .  After  the  middle  of  the  sixteenth  century  ee  was  appro- 
priated to  e  in  here,  and  ea  to  e  in  there.  .  .  .  Cheer  however  was  one  of  the  excep- 
tional words  in  the  seventeenth  century  which  rhymed  to  here.  The  spelling  cheere, 
generally  used  in  F,,  shows  that  the  printer's  reader  of  that  book  (no  one  else  with 
certainty)  also  rhymed  it  thus.  .  .  .  There  seems  some  reason  to  suppose  that  dis- 
ease, in  this  line  from  Macbeth,  is  the  correct  reading,  and  that  the  hyphen  was 
inserted  to  prevent  the  word  being  pronounced  quite  as  disease,  although  the  lines 
immediately  following  may  have  been  suggested  by  the  near  coincidence  of  sounds 
between  dis-ease,  render  un-easy,  quasi  dis-cheer,  compare  dis-able,  and  the  ordinary 
disease.  Observe,  also,  in  this  scene  the  description  of  a  *  minde  diseased,'  and  the 
play  on  the  word  in  2  Hen.  IV :  IV,  i,  54.  Chair  and  disseat  introduce  two  verbs 
not  found  in  Sh.  and  have  no  connexion  with  any  other  ideas  in  the  scene. 

ViLES  {The  Athenaum,  8  February,  1868).  I  find  chair  as  a  verb  in  Gouldman's 
Copious  Dictionary,  1664: — 'Chaired  or  stalled — Cathedratus*  What  is  more  to 
the  point  is  that  Sh,  generally  applies  *  chair*  to  a  *  throne,  a  seat  of  justice,  or 
authority,'  while  an  ordinary  seat  (such  as  a  chair  is  now-a-days)  he  calls  a  *  stool.' 
See  HI,  iv,  68  and  82.  For  *  chair'  see  2  Hen.  IV:  IV,  v,  95;  Rich.  Ill:  IV, 
iv,  470. 

Clarendon.  The  antithesis  would  doubtless  be  more  satisfactory  if  we  followed 
the  later  folios,  and  read  'cheer  .  .  .  disease,'  or  [adopted  Dyce's  reading].     But 

*  disease '  seems  to  be  too  feeble  a  word  for  the  required  sense,  and  *  chair,'  which  is 
nowhere  used  by  Sh.  as  a  verb,  would  signify  rather  *  to  place  in  a  chair'  than  *  to 
keep  in  a  chair,'  which  is  what  we  want.     The  difficulty  in  the  text,  retaining 

*  cheer,'  is  still  greater,  because  the  antithesis  is  imperfect,  and  it  seems  strange, 
after  speaking  of  a  push  as  *  cheering '  one,  to  recur  to  its  literal  sense.  We  have, 
however,  left  *  cheer  *  in  the  text,  in  accordance  with  our  rule  not  to  make  any 
change  where  the  existing  reading  is  not  quite  impossible  and  the  proposed  emenda- 
tions not  quite  satisfactory. 

[If  it  be  impossible,  as  according  to  Mr  Ellis  it  is,  to  regard  *  cheer'  as  j^phonetic 
spelling  of  chair,  then,  as  it  seems  to  me,  there  is  no  aUernative  but  to  adopt  the 
reading  of  the  later  Ff ;  even  in  the  case  of  Fj  there  is  less  torture  in  converting  the 
misspelling  *  dis-eate '  into  dis-ease  than  into  dis-seat.  Dis-ease  is  the  logical  antithesis 
to  *  cheer,'  and  is  used  with  no  little  force  in  the  earlier  versions  of  the  New  Testament. 
In  Luke,  viii,  49  (both  in  Cranmer's  Version,  1 537,  and  in  the  version  of  1581), 

*  Thy  daughter  is  dead,  disease  not  the  master.'     In  the  Prompt.  Pan>.  we  find 

*  Dysese,  or  greve.  Tedium^  gravamen,  calamitas,  angustia^  and  *  Dysp:syn,  or 
grevyn.  Noceo,  Cath.  vexo.^  Cotgrave  gives  :  *  Malaiser.  To  disease^  trouble,  dis- 
quiet, perplex.^  Richardson  [Diet.  s.  v.)  cites,  *  None  was  more  benyng  than  he  to 
men,  that  were  in  diseise  or  in  tourment.' — R.  Gloucester,  p.  483,  Note  7.  *  Petre 
seide  and  thei  that  weren  with  him,  comaundour,  the  puple  thrusten,  and  disese.i 


ACT  V,  sc.  iii.]  MACBETH,  269 

And  that  which  should  accompany  old  age,  24 

\affligunt\  thee.* — Wiclif,  Luke  c.  8.  '  For  which  thing  I  deme  hem  that  of  hethene 
men  ben  convertid  to  god  to  be  not  diseesid  \inquietarf\.^ — Id.  Dedis^  c.  15.  « And 
discse  \arumna\  of  the  world  and  disceit  of  richessis.' — Id.  Mark^  c.  4.  *  In  the 
world  ghe  schulen  haue  disese  \pre5suram'\  but  triste  ghe  I  haue  ouercome  the 
world.' — Id.  yohn^  c.  16.  Instances  are  also  given  from  Chaucer,  Sidney,  and 
Spenser  to  the  same  effect.  It  is,  perchance,  worth  noting  that  *  disease  *  is  used,  in 
this  sense,  twice  in  Middleton's  Witch  ;  see  Appendix,  p.  389.  Ed.] 

22.  way  of  life]  Johnson.  As  there  is  no  relation  between  the  7vay  of  life  and 
fallen  into  the  sear^  I  am  inclined  to  think  that  the  IV  is  only  an  M  inverted,  and  that 
it  was  •  my  May  of  life.*  I  am  now  passed  from  the  spring  to  the  autumn  of  my  days : 
but  I  am  without  those  comforts  that  should  succeed  the  sprightliness  of  bloom,  and 
support  me  in  this  melancholy  season.     Sh.  has  Afay  in  the  same  sense  elsewhere^ 

Warburton.  Macbeth  is  not  here  speaking  of  his  rule  or  government,  or  of  any 
sudden  change ;  but  of  the  gradual  decline  of  life,  as  appears  from  line  24.     And 

*  way '  is  used  for  course^  progress. 

Steevens  (1773,  1778,  1785)  cites  instances  from  Sh.'s  contemporaries  to  prove 
the  correctness  of  Dr  Johnson's  emendation. 

Henley.  The  contrary  error  [may  for  '  way ']  occurs  in  II,  i,  57. 

Mason  .(1785).  The  old  reading  should  not  have  been  discarded,  as  the  following 
passages  prove  that  it  was  an  expression  in  use  at  that  time,  as  course  of  life  is  now. 
In  Massinger's  Very  Woman: — *  In  way  of  life  [youth],  I  did  enjoy  one  friend.* 
Again  [in  The  Roman  Actor,  vol.  ii,  p.  334,  Massinger's  Works,  ed.  Gifford.  Ed.], 

*  If  that  when  I  was  mistress  of  myself,  And  in  my  7vay  of  youth, ^  &c. 

Malone  (1790).  By  his  *May  of  life  having  fallen  into  the  yellow  leaf,*  that  is, 
into  autumn,  we  must  understand  that  Macbeth  means  either,  that  being  in  reality 
young,  he  is,  in  consequence  of  his  cares,  arrived  at  a  premature  old  age ; — or  that 
in  the  progress  of  life  he  has  passed  from  May  or  youth  to  autumn  or  old  age;  in 
other  words,  that  he  is  now  an  old  man,  or  at  least  near  being  one.  If  the  first 
interpretation  be  maintained,  it  is  sufficient  to  say  (I  use  the  words  of  my  friend  Mr 
Flood)  that  *  Macbeth,  when  he  speaks  this  speech,  is  not  youthful.  He  is  contem- 
porary to  Banquo,  who  is  advanced  in  years,  and  who  hath  a  son  upon  the  scene 
able  to  escape  the  pursuit  of  assassins  and  the  vigilance  of  Macbeth.*  I  may  like- 
wise add  that  Macbeth,  having  now  sat  for  seventeen  years  on  the  throne  of  Scot- 
land, cannot  with  any  probability  be  supposed  to  be  like  our  author's  Henry  V,  *  in 
the  May  morn  of  his  youth.*  We  must  therefore  understand  these  words  in  the 
latter  sense ;  namely,  that  in  the  ordinary  progress  he  has  passed  from  the  spring  to 
the  autumn  of  life,  from  youth  to  age.  What  then  is  obtained  by  this  alteration  ? 
for  this  is  precisely  the  meaning  of  the  words  as  they  stand  in  the  old  copy.  There 
is  still  another  very  strong  objection  to  the  proposed  emendation.  It  is  alleged  that 
in  this  very  play  may  is  printed  instead  of  way,  and  why  may  not  the  contrary  error 
have  happened  here?  For  this  plain  reason:  because  May  (ihe.  month)  both  in 
manuscript  and  print,  always  is  exhibited  with  a  capital  letter,  and  it  is  exceedingly 
improbable  that  a  compositor  at  the  press  should  use  a  small  w  instead  of  a  capital  M. 

Steevens  (1793).  ^^  Per.,  I,  i,  54:  ' ready  for  the  way  of  life  or  death.' 

Gifford  (Massinger,  A  Very  Woman,  vol.  iv,  p.  305,  ed.  1805).  The  phrase  is 
neither  more  nor  less  than  a  simple  periphrasis  for  *  life,'  as  *  way  of  youth  *  in  the 
text  is  for  '  youth.'     A  few  examples  will  make  thb  clear :  * So  much  noblei 

23* 


270  MACBETH,  [act  v,  sc.  iil. 

As  honour,  love,  obedience,  troops  of  friends,  25 

Shall  be  your  way  of  justice,^ — Thierry  and  Theodoret,  [The  examples  above  from 
the  Roman  Actor ^  and  Pericles  are  here  cited,  and  also  from  The  Queen  of  Corinth^ 
and  Valentinian,  Ed.]  In  Macbeth,  'the  sere  and  [sic]  yellow  leaf*  is  the  commence- 
ment of  the  winter  of  life,  or  of  old  age ;  to  this  he  has  attained,  and  he  laments,  in 
a  strain  of  inimitable  pathos  and  beauty,  that  it  is  unaccompanied  by  those  blessings 
which  render  it  supportable. 

Elwin.  No  single  instance  can  be  adduced  in  Sh.  in  which  the  parts  that  consti- 
tute the  figure  are  conjoined  irrelevantly,  and  void  of  any  natural  relation  to  each 
other,  such  as  would  be  the  conversion  of  actions^  or  the  way  or  path ^  into  a  leaf  of 
any  kind.  .  •  .  Macbeth,  on  retrospection,  seems  to  have  descended  from  a  previous 
exaltation,  and  this  he  naturally  denotes  by  'fallen^  which  also  maintains,  unbroken, 
the  allusion  to  what  is  called,  the  fall  of  the  year. 

Walker  {Crit.,  ii,  301).  The  true  correction  is  undoubtedly  Afay, 

Collier  (ed.  2).  May  is  the  reading  of  the  (MS),  and  doubtless  the  true  lan- 
guage of  Sh.  It  needs  no  proof  that  *  way  of  life  *  was  a  very  trite  phrase,  but  the 
more  trite  it  is  proved  to  be,  the  less  likely  is  it  that  Sh.  should  have  used  it  here ; 
the  contrast  of  *the  yellow  leaf*  with  the  green  luxuriance  of  May  so  completely 
supports  our  text  that  we  have  no  misgiving  in  adopting  it. 

White.  Dr  Johnson's  emendation  is  a  step  prose-ward,  although  speciously 
poetic. 

Clarendon.  Very  probably  Sh.  wrote  *  May,*  but  we  have  not  inserted  it  in  the 
text,  remembering  with  what  careless  profusion  our  poet  heaps  metaphor  on  meta- 
phor. This  mixture  of  metaphors,  however,  is  not  justified  by  quoting,  as  the  com- 
mentators do,  passages  from  Sh.  and  other  authors  to  prove  that  *way  of  life'  is  a 
mere  periphrasis  for  *  life.*  The  objection  to  it  is,  that  it  is  immediately  followed  by 
another  and  different  metaphor.  If  we  were  to  read  *  May,'  we  should  have  a  sense 
exactly  parallel  to  a  passage  in  Rich.  II :  III,  iv,  48,  49 :  *  He  that  hath  sufTer'd  this 
disorder'd  spring  Hath  now  himself  met  with  the  fall  of  leaf.' 

23.  scar]  Harry  Rowe.  My  wooden  gentlemen  are  the  best  judges  of  the  word 
*  sear.'  Some  of  the  upper  branches  of  every  old  oak  are  *  sear,*  that  is,  dry  and 
leafless,  as  may  be  seen  every  day. 

Hunter.  The  sear-month  is  August  in  the  proverb,  *  Good  to  cut  briars  in  the 
sere-month,'  presei-ved  by  Aubrey  in  his  MS  treatise  on  the  Remains  of  Gentilism  in 
England^  and  this  is  favourable  to  the  change  of  way  into  May.  Of  sere-leaves 
there  are  many  instances. 

Halliwell.  Dry  or  withered;  a  term  particularly  applied  to  the  autumn  leaves. 

24.  old  age]  Clarke.  Macbeth's  mention  of  himself  as  being  now  in  the  autumn 
of  life,  and  his  anticipation  of  the  period  when  he  shall  be  old,  is  one  of  those 
touches  of  long  time  systematically  thrown  in  at  intervals,  to  convey  the  effect  of  a 
sufficiently  elapsed  period  for  the  reign  of  the  usurper  since  his  murder  of  the  ])re- 
ceding  king,  Duncan.  It  is  interesting  to  trace  in  how  artistic  (according  to  his  own 
system  of  art)  a  mode  Sh.  has  achieved  this  indication  of  dramatic  time  from  llie 
epoch  when  it  is  stated  that  Macbeth  is  'gone  to  Scone  to  be  invested'  with  royalty. 
There  is  mention  of  *  our  bloody  cousins  are  bestow'd  in  England,  and  in  Ireland  ;' 
the  dread  of  *  Banquo's  issue '  succeeding  to  the  throne ;  his  assassination ;  Mac- 
duff's flight  to  the  English  court,  that  he  may  obtain  succour  to  rescue  his  « sufTcring 
country;'  the  scene  in  England,  with  the  eloquent  description  of  Scotland's  miseries. 


ACT  V,  sc.  iii.]  MA  CBE  TH,  2  7 1 

I  must  not  look  to  have ;  but,  in  their  stead, 

Curses,  not  loud  but  deep,  mouth-honour,  breath, 

Which  the  poor  heart  would  fain  deny,  and  dare  not. — 

Seyton ! 

Enter  Seyton. 

Sey,     What's  your  gracious  pleasure  ? 

Macb,  What  news  more  ?  30 

Sey,     All  is  confirm'd,  my  lord,  which  was  reported. 

Macb,     I'll  fight,  till  from  my  bones  my  flesh  be  hack'd. — 
Give  me  my  armour. 

Sey,  *Tis  not  needed  yet. 

Macb,     I'll  put  it  on. 
Send  out  more  horses,  skirr  the  country  round ;  35 

Hang  those  that  talk  of  fear.     Give  me  mine  armour. — 
How  does  your  patient,  doctor  ? 

Doct,  Not  so  sick,  my  lord, 

27.  mouth-honour^  Mouth-honour  30.  lVhat^s\  Ff,  Dav.  Rowe,  Jen, 
F^,  Rowe.  Knt,  Cam.  Cla.     What  is  Pope,  et  cet. 

28.  and  dare]  but  dare  Reed,  1 803,  32.     be"]  is  F^^F^F^,  Pope,  Han. 
1813,  Var.  Sing,  i,  Huds.  35.     more]  moe  F,Fg,  Cam.  Cla. 

29.  Seyton  /]  om.  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.  36.     talk  of]  stand  in  Y^J?^. 

as  of  a  long-standing  course  of  wrong  and  suffering ;  the  words,  *  She  has  light  by 
her  continually f  and  *  It  is  an  accustomed  action  with  her  to  seem  thus  washing  her 
hands,*  thrown  in  during  the  sleep-walking  scene,  so  as  to  produce  the  impression 
of  a  protracted  period  in  Lady  Macbeth's  condition  of  nightly  disquiet ;  and  now 
there  is  introduced  this  allusion  to  Macbeth*s  having  advanced  in  years, 

[May  we  not  add  as  one  of  these  *  touches  *  the  tardy  recognition  of  Ross  by  Mal- 
colm in  IV,  iii,  160?  Ed.] 

30.  Seyton]  French  (p.  296).  The  Setons  of  Touch  were  (and  are  still)  hered- 
itary armour-bearers  to  the  kings  of  Scotland ;  there  is  thus  a  peculiar  fitness  in  the 
choice  of  this  name. 

35.  more]  Clarendon.  Sh.  uses  both  forms  'more*  and  *moe.*  See  Rich.  II; 
II,  i,  239;  Mer.  of  Ven.,  I,  i,  108. 

skirr]  Steevens.  To  scour,  to  ride  hastily.  See  Hen.  V :  IV,  vii,  64,  and  B.  & 
F.'s  Bonduca^  I,  i,  *  —  light  shadows  That,  in  a  thought,  scur  o'er  the  fields  of  com.* 

Harry  Rowe.  Though  I  have  the  greatest  veneration  for  obsolete  English  words, 
I  do  not  see  the  propriety  of  retaining  them  upon  the  stage ;  for  which  reason  I  have 
substituted  ^  scour''  for  *  skirr.* 

37»  40»  57-  your.. .thou. ..your]  Skeat  ( William  of  Palerne^  p.  xlii,  E.  E.  Text 
Soc,  1867).  Thou  is  the  language  of  a  lord  to  a  servant,  of  an  equal  to  an  equal, 
and  expresses  also  companionship,  love,  permission,  defiance,  scorn,  threatening; 
whilst  ^^  is  the  language  of  a  servant  to  a  lord,  and  of  compliment,  and  further  ex- 
presses honour,  submission,  entreaty.  Thou  is  used  with  singular  verbs,  and  the 
possessive  pronoun  thine;  but  j^  requires  plural  verbs,  and  the  possessive  ^w/r.  .   .  . 


272 


MACBETH. 


[act  V,  sc.  iii. 


As  she  is  troubled  with  thick-coming  fancies, 
That  keep  her  from  her  rest. 

Macb,  Cure  her  of  that. 

Canst  thou  not  minister  to  a  mind  diseased, 
Pluck  from  the  memory  a  rooted  sorrow. 
Raze  out  the  written  troubles  of  the  brain, 


40 


39.  Cure  her\  Cure  F^,  Dav. 
<?/]  from  FjF^. 

40.  a  mind']  minds  Pope,  Han, 


42.     Raze]  Raise  F^,  Rowe.  Rase  F^. 
^Rase  Cap.  (Errata.) 


Besides  the  insight  we  thus  get  into  our  forefathers'  ways  of  speech,  this  investiga- 
tion may  serve  to  remind  us  editors  that  we  are  not  to  mistake  _y(7«  for  J>ou,  as  in  some 
MSS  is  easily  done,  and  that  the  frequent  interchange  of  the  forms  is  the  result,  not 
of  confusion,  but  of  design  and  orderly  use. 

Abbott  (g  231).  Thou  in  Sh.'s  time  was,  very  much  like  *du*  now  among  the 
Germans,  the  pronoun  of  (i)  affection  towards  friends,  (2)  good-humoured  supe- 
riority to  servants,  and  (3)  contempt  or  anger  to  strangers.  It  had,  however,  already 
fallen  somewhat  into  disuse,  and,  being  regarded  as  archaic,  was  naturally  adopted 
(4)  in  the  higher  poetic  style  and  in  the  language  of  solemn  prayer,  (g  235.)  In 
almost  all  cases  where  thou  and  you  appear  indiscriminately  used,  further  considera- 
tions show  some  change  of  thought,  or  some  influence  of  euphony  sufficient  to 
account  for  the  change  of  pronoun. 

37.  patient]  Bodenstedt.  There  is  not  a  trace  of  genuine  sympathy  in  anything 
that  Macbeth,  after  this  question,  says  of  Lady  Macbeth.  The  strength  of  his  selfish 
nature  crops  out  everywhere. 

39.  Cure  her]  Elwin.  *  Cure  her '  of  F,  is  a  phrase  inferior  in  adaptation  and 
vigour  to  the  original  sentence  of  F^ ;  for  Macbeth  mentally  applies  it  to  himself, 
and  therefore  generalises  l>oth  his  command  and  his  question.  To  this  meaning  the 
Doctor  palpably  replies;  for  he  says  not  hersc/f^  hut  himse//.  The  sense  is  'Cure 
Zhou  of  that.*  But  the  abbreviated  form  of  expression  accords  with  the  turbulence 
of  Macbeth's  mind ;  and  is  more  emphatic. 

Clarkndon.  Perhaps  the  author  wrote  *  Make  cure  of  that.' 

40,  46.  to  a  mind.. .to  himself]  Walkkr  (  Vers.,  p.  76).  Read;  '/'  a  mitid\.. 
'/'  himself: 

40.  not  minister]  Badham  (p.  281).  I  suspect  that  the  negative  was  introduced 
by  the  players,  who  misplaced  the  accent  upon  'minister.'  That  the  change  in  the 
pronunciation  was  taking  place  in  Sh.'s  time  is  proved  by  his  indifferently  using  both 
modes.  The  words  *  canst  thou  do  this?'  sufficiently  indicate  the  spirit  of  the  ques- 
tion. 'Canst  thou  not'  dallies  with  the  false  supposition,  and  is  far  too  playful  an 
irony  to  consist  with  the  terrible  moralizings  of  remorse  with  which  Mac])eth  closes 
his  career.     Read  :  '  Canst  thou  minister  to  a,'  &c. 

diseased]  Singer.  The  following  very  remarkable  passage  on  the  Afuadigi  of 
Bernardo  Tasso,  which  bears  a  striking  resemblance  to  the  words  of  Macbeth,  was 
first  pointed  out  in  Weber's  ed.  of  Ford : 

*  Ma  chi  puote  con  erbc,  od  argomcnti 
Guarir  rinfennitA  del  inielletto?'— Giw/.  xxxvi,  st.  37. 

The  *  nullis  medicabilis  herbis '  of  Ovid  of  course  suggested  it. 
42.  brain]   Delius.  We  have  the  same  figure  in  Ham.  I,  v,  103. 


ACT  V,  sc.  iii.]  MACBETH.  273 

And  with  some  sweet  oblivious  antidote  43 

Cleanse  the  stuff 'd  bosom  of  tliat  perilous  stuff 

44.    stuff'd^  stufft  F,.  stuft  F.FjF^.  44.     stuff'\  stuffe  F,F,.     had  Verp. 

full  Pope,  Han.  grief  Coll.  ii  (MS). 

43.  sweet  oblivious]  Walker  {Crit,  i, 38).  Sweet-oblivious ^Y^XT^i,  [See Rom. 
&  Jul.,  I,  i,  86,  'grave  beseeming.*  Ed.] 

Clarendon.  Causing  forgetfulness,  like  obliviosus  in  Latin :  * Oblivioso  levia 

Massico  Ciboria  exple.* — Horace ^  Odes  ii,  7,  21.     Among  the  meanings  which  Cot- 
grave  gives  to  oblivieux,  is  *  causing  forgetfulnesse.* 

44.  stuff 'd... stuff]  Steevens.  For  the  sake  of  the  ear,  I  am  willing  to  rt.?Afoul 
instead  of  *  stuff 'd ' ;  there  is  authority  for  the  change  in  As  You  Like  It,  II,  vii,  6o« 
We  properly  speak  of  cleansing  what  is  foul,  but  not  what  is  stuffed. 

Malone.  Sh.  was  extremely  fond  of  such  repetitions :  Thus,  *  Now  for  the  love 
of  lovcy  Ant.  &  Cleo.,  I,  i,  44;  *  The  greatest  ^or^  lending  ^tff^,*  All's  Well,  II,  i, 
163;  *  Our  means  will  make  as  means^  lb.,  V,  i,  35;  *  Is  ^m/k  better  to  him  ^iii^ 
dying,*  Hen.  VIII:  II,  i,  74;  *  Upon  his  brow  shame  is  ashamed  to  sit,*  Rom.  & 
Jul.,  Ill,  ii,  92 ;  *  For  by  this  knot  thou  shalt  so  surely  tie  Thy  now  unsur'd  assur- 
ance to  the  crown,*  King  John,  II,  i,  471 ;  *  Believe  me,  I  do  not  believe  thee,  man,* 
lb.,  Ill,  i,  9 ;  *  Those  he  commands  move  only  in  commands^   Macb.,  V,  ii,  19. 

Collier  (ed.  i).  The  error,  if  any,  lies  in  the  last  word  of  the  line,  which,  per- 
haps, the  printer  mistook,  having  composed  *  stuff  *d  *  just  before.  It  is  vain  to  specu- 
late what  word  to  substitute,  but  from  its  position  it  need  not  necessarily  be  of  one 
syllable  only. 

Collier  (Notes t  &c.,  p.  416).  From  the  (MS)  we  learn  that  grief  ought  to  have 
been  inserted  instead  of  '  stuff;'  and  it  is  not  impossible  that  the  recurrence  of  the 
letter  y  had  something  to  do  with  the  blunder. 

Dyce  (Few  Holes f  &c.,  p.  129).  These  repetitions,  as  well  as  his  quibbles  in  seri- 
ous dialogues,  &c.,  Sh.  would  doubtless  have  avoided  had  he  lived  in  an  age  of 
severer  taste.  [Dyce  here  subjoins  over  thirty  instances  which  evince  the  fondness 
of  our  early  authors  for  jingles  of  this  description  (for  Staunton's  opinion  in  refer- 
ence to  somewhat  similar  repetitions,  see  IV,  iii,  201),  and  ends  his  note  with  the 
query]  Does  not  the  (MS)  introduce  a  great  impropriety  of  expression, — 'cleanse 
the  bosom  of  grief  '  ? 

Elwin  (p.  107).  The  duplication  shows  the  idea  more  definitely  oppressive,  de- 
noting the  contemplation  of  the  speaker  to  be  chained  to  the  one  changeless  sensation 
of  his  guilt,  which  enforces  and  holds  his  attention. 

Walker  ( Crit.  i,  276).  This  species  of  corruption, — the  substitution  of  a  particu- 
lar word  for  another  which  stands  near  it  in  the  context,  more  especially  if  there 
happens  to  be  some  resemblance  between  the  two,  .  .  .  occurs  frequently  in  the 
folio.  [This  line  is  cited,  but  no  emendation  suggested.  Ed.] 

Collier  (ed.  2).  Certain  we  are  that  'grief*  is  a  vastly  better  reading  than  stuj''. 
We  are  confident  that  neither  the  many  passages  cited  by  Dyce,  nor  as  many  more 
(which  might  be  readily  accumulated),  would  satisfy  a  judicious  and  impartial  reader 
with  sti4ff  in  opposition  to  '  grief.* 

Bailey  (i,  83).  Steevens's  reading  is  right. 

Ingleby  (p.  39).  The  (MS)  evidently  means  *  cleanse  the  bosom  of  a  griefe,*  i.  e., 
9.  disease,  or  sickness.  We  have  a  striking  parallel  between  the  reading  of  the  (MS) 
and  the  following  from  Daniel's  Queen's  Arcadia,  III,  ii,  *  —  but  ft  what  Can  physicke 

S 


274  MACBETH.  [act  v,  sc.  iii. 

Which  weighs  upon  the  heart  ? 

Doct  Therein  the  patient  45 

Must  minister  to  himself. 

Macb,     Throw  physic  to  the  dogs,  Fll  none  of  it. — 
Come,  put  mine  armour  on ;  give  me  my  staff. — 
Seyton,  send  out. — Doctor,  the  thanes  fly  from  me. — 
Come,  sir,  dispatch. — If  thou  couldst,  doctor,  cast  50 

The  water  of  my  land,  find  her  disease 
And  purge  it  to  a  sound  and  pristine  health, 
I  would  applaud  thee  to  the  very  echo, 
That  should  applaud  again. — Pull't  off,  I  say. — 
What  rhubarb,  senna,  or  what  purgative  drug,  55 

46.     to\  unto  FjjFjF^,  Rowe,  + .  55.     senna\  F^.    Q/w^  F^,  Dav.  Glo. 

48.     fnine\  my  F^,  Rowe,  + .  Cam.     Cieny  F^F^.     sirrah    Bullock.* 

52.    pristine]  pristiue  F,.  cymi  Ktly,  conj. 

* 
do  to  cure  that  hideous  wound  My  lusts  have  given  my  conscience  ?  which  I  see  Is 
that  which  onely  is  diseased  within,  .  .  .  that  layes  upon  my  hearty  This  heavy  loade 
that  weighes  it  downe  with  grief e ;^  &c.     (Here  grief e  is  used  in  the  double  sense,  as 

it  is  a  few  lines  above,  where  Daphne  says,  of  the  Quacksalver :  * Who  ever 

could  have  thought  Any  man  living,  could  have  told  so  right  A  woman's  griefe^  &c.) 
Without  going  the  length  of  saying  that  I  accept  the  emendation  grief  vice  '  stuff,* 
I  must  say  that  I  think  it  has  more  to  recommend  it  than  nine-tenths  of  those  which 
have  received  popular  favour. 

Staunton.  Notwithstanding  Malone's  defence  of  the  repetition,  we  are  strongly 
inclined  to  believe  with  Steevens  that  the  line  originally  stood  as  he  presents  it,  or 
thus  :  *  Cleanse  the  clogg'd  bosom,'  &c.,  or, —  *  of  that  perilous  load.^ 

Keightley.  I  read  matter  [for  *  stuff']  * shall  expel  This  something-settled 

matter  in  his  heart.'  Ham.  HI,  i,  i8i. 

Clarendon.  This  can  hardly  be  right.  One  or  other  of  these  words  must  be  due 
to  a  mistake  of  transcriber  or  printer.  For  *  stuff 'd'  some  have  conjectured  .  .  . 
*  fraught^  ^  press*  d.^     Others  would  alter  *  stuff'  to  .  .  .  'slough^  or  *  freight.'' 

48.  staff]  Clarendon.  The  general's  baton. 

49.  send  out.]  Delius.  The  sentence  is  not  completed,  and  there  should  be  no 
period  after  it.  Macbeth  is  thinking  of  his  previous  command :  *  Send  out  more 
horses.' 

50.  cast]  Steevens.  This  was  the  word  in  use  for  finding  out  disorders  by  in- 
spection of  the  water. 

54.  Puirt]  Delius.  These  impatient  words  are  again  addressed  to  Seyton,  who, 
while  busily  untying  some  band  or  other,  is  commanded  to  break  it  off  instead. 

55.  senna]  Dyce  {Remarks,  &c.,  p.  201).  *  Senna'  is  right;  the  long  list  of 
drugs  in  The  J^ates  of  Marchandizes,  &c.,  furnishes  no  other  word  for  which  cyme 
could  possibly  be  a  misprint. 

Hunter.  The  F^^  correctly  represents  the  pronunciation  of  the  name  of  the  drug 
now  called  senna  in  Sh.'s  time,  and  is  still  the  pronunciation  of  it  by  the  common 
people.     Thus,  in  The  Treasurie  of  Hidden  Secrets,  1627,  *  Tok^  scene  oi  Alexandria 


ACT  V.  sc.  iii.]  AfA  CBETH,  275 

Would  scour  these  English  hence  ?     Hear'st  thou  of  them  ? 

Doct     Ay,  my  good  lord ;  your  royal  preparation 
Makes  us  hear  something. 

Macb,  Bring  it  after  me. — 

I  will  not  be  afraid  of  death  and  bane  59 

Till  Birnam  forest  come  to  Punsinane.  \Exit. 

Doct     Were  I  from  Dunsinane  away  and  clear, 
Profit  again  should  hardly  draw  me  here.  \Exit, 

56.     Hear'st]     Nearest    Cap.    Mai.  cept  Doctor.  Dyce,  Sta.     om.  Ff. 

Steev.  Sing,  i,  Knt,  Huds.  i.  61.     [Aside]   Han.  Cap.   Mai.  Glo. 

60.     Birnam']  Bintane  F^.  Cam.  Cla. 

[Exit.]    Steev.     Exeunt  all  ex-  62.     [Exit.]  Steev. 

one  ounce,'  &c.  The  line  has  lost  something  of  its  melody  by  the  substitution  of 
senHa  for  the  softer  word  ca:ny^  which  ought  to  have  been  retained.  We  may  go  on 
altering  our  language  if  we  please,  but  let  us  not  throw  on  our  dead  poets  the  reproach 
of  having  written  inharmoniously,  when  only  we  have  ourselves,  through  conceit, 
thought  proper  to  abrogate  very  good  and  serviceable  terms. 

Badham  (p.  281).  The  only  pretension  to  probability  [of  senna"]  is,  that  the 
Pharmacopceia  offers  us  no  cathartic  whose  name  is  not  still  more  remote  from  the 
corrupted  word.  What  then  if  we  change  the  treatment,  and  read :  *  What  rhubarb, 
ciysmey  or,'  &c.  If  I  am  asked  what  authority  I  have  for  this  form  in  the  English 
language  I  am  at  a  loss  for  anything  better  than  cataclysm  in  the  sense  of  deluge. 
But  Plerodotus  (Bk  ii,  ch.  87)  uses  nXva^a  in  the  sense  of  kXvot^p.  It  would  be 
worth  while  to  look  in  TAe  famous  Hystorye  of  Herodotus  in  Englyshe^  to  see  how 
this  is  rendered. 

Wellesley.  In  Malone's  copy  of  F^  Cany  is  corrected  in  old  pen  and  ink  to 
CaneJ*'  This  contemporary  MS  correction  hits  the  pronunciation,  though  it  misses 
the  orthography,  of  the  right  word  Sene^  a  monosyllable,  the  proper  English  word 
for  Senna.  In  the  Great  Herbal  printed  by  Peter  Treveris,  in  the  Herbal  printed 
by  Thomas  Petyt  in  1 54 1,  in  the  reprint  of  the  same  by  William  Copland,  in  Lyte's 
Neiv  Herbal,  1 578  and  1 61 9,  in  Gerarde's  Herbal,  1597,  there  are  whole  chapters 
Of  Sene.  And  it  is  Sene  in  Cotgrave  and  Howell's  dictionaries,  and  Parkinson  in 
his  Herbal,  1 640,  mentions  two  sorts  of  Sene  tree — I.  Sene  of  Alexandria;  2.  the 
Sene  of  Italy.     Burton's  Anatomy,  even  so  late  as  the  ed.   1660,  p.  378,  mentions 

*  Colutea,  which  Fuchsius,  cap.  168,  and  others  take  for  Sene,  but  most  distinguish.* 
The  printers  of  that  period  used  a:  for  e'e  or  a  long  e.  We  have  Srena  and  Scctna 
indifferently  in  F^.  We  find  a  Sienneseset  down  as  *Scena:se^  in  *  Supposes^  Englished 
by  Gascoigne,  1566;  and  the  volume  is  'Imprinted  by  Abel  Jeffes  dwelling  in  the 
Fore  Stnete  without  Craeplegate,  naere  unto  Grub-strrete.*  If  therefore  it  should  ap- 
pear that  Senna  never  occurs  as  an  English  word  till  long  after  Sh.,  ought  we  not  to 
read  •  What  Rhubarb,  Sene  or,'  &c. 

Clarendon.  In  Cotgrave  it  is  spelt '  sene '  and  *  senne,*  and  defined  to  be  *  a  little 
purf^ative  shnib  or  plant.'     In  Lyte's  Ne7o  Herbal,  1595,  p.  437,  is  a  chapter  headed 

•  Of  Sene.'  In  it  he  says  the  *  leaues  of  sena  .  .  .  scoure  away  fleume  and  choler, 
especially  blacke  choler  and  melancholie.* 

•  No  mention  that  I  can  find  m  made  of  this  in  the  eds.  of  1773,  1785,  Malone's  1790,  Steevent't 
X793>  Reed's  1803,  1813,  Bo»w ell's  x8ax,  nor  in  Malone's  zst  or  ad  Supplement.  £0. 


276  MA  CBETH.  [ACT  v,  sc.  iy, 


Scene  IV.     Country  near  Bimant  wood. 

Drum  and  colours.     Enter  MALCOLM,  old  SrwARD  and  his  Son,  MACDUFF,  Men- 
TEiTH,  Caithness,  Angus,  Lennox,  Ross,  and  Soldiers,  marching, 

Mai,     Cousins,  I  hope  the  days  are  near  at  hand 
That  chambers  will  be  safe. 

Ment,  We  doubt  it  nothing. 

Siw,     What  wood  is  this  before  us  ? 

Ment.  The  wood  of  Birnam. 

Mai.     Let  every  soldier  hew  him  down  a  bough, 
And  bear't  before  him :  thereby  shall  we  shadow  5 

The  numbers  of  our  host,  and  make  discovery 
Err  in  report  of  us. 

Soldiers.  It  shall  be  done. 

Siw.     We  learn  no  other  but  the  confident  tyrant 
Keeps  still  in  Dunsinane,  and  will  endure 
Our  setting  down  before  *t. 

Mai.  Tis  his  main  hope :  10 

Country....]  Glo.     A  Wood.   Rowc,  colme,   Seyward,   MacdufTe,   Seywards 

Birnam  Wood.  Pope,  +.     Plains  lead-  Sonne,  Menteth,  Cathnes,  Angus,  and 

ing  to    D. ;    a  Wood   adjacent.   Cap.  Soldiers  Marching.  Ff. 

Country  near  D.    A  wood  in  view.  Mai.  I.    Cousins']    Cosins    F^F,.      Cousin 

Steev,  et  cet.  ^3^4»  Pope,  Han. 

Drums  and  colours.]  Ff.    om.  Rowe,  3.     Birnam']  Bymam  F^.     Bimane 

+  .  F,. 

Enter ]    Dyce.      Enter   Mai-  8.     confident]  confined  Warb. 

2.  That]  Abbott  (§  284).  At  which  time;  when.     [See  III,  ii,  32.] 
chambers]  Clarendon.  As  we  say  *  every  man's  house  is  his  castle.'    See  King 

John,  V,  ii,  147. 

RiTTER.  Referring  to  the  circumstances  of  their  father's  murder. 

Hudson  (ed.  2).  Referring  to  the  spies,  mentioned  at  HI,  iv,  131,  prowling  about 
private  chambers  and  listening  at  key-holes. 

3.  Birnam]  Clarendon.  Birnam  is  a  high  hill  near  Dunkeld,  twelve  miles 
W.  N.  W.  of  Dunsinnan,  which  is  seven  miles  N.  E.  of  Perth.  On  the  top  of  the 
latter  hill  are  the  remains  of  an  ancient  fortress,  popularly  called  Macbeth's  castle. 

6.  discovery]  Delius.  This  refers  to  Macbeth's  spies. 

[See  Abboit  and  Ellis,  IV,  ii,  72.  Ed.] 

10.  setting]  Clarendon.  For  *  set '  where  we  should  say  *  sit,'  used  intransi- 
tively,  see  Cor.,  I,  ii,  28. 

main  hope]  Leo.  As  this  phrase  does  not  occur  elsewhere  in  Sh.,  and  as,  more- 
over, it  does  not  suit  the  present  passage,  I  have  considered  myself  justified  in 
emending  *  main'  into  vain.  [See  Dyce's  reference  to  Gifford. — Remarks^  &c.,  p. 
193.  Ed.] 


ACT  V,  sc.  iv.]  MA  CBETH.  277 

For  where  there  is  advantage  to  be  given,  1 1 

Both  more  and  less  have  given  him  the  revolt, 

II,  12.  where,.,have  given\  when.,.  ii.  to  be  taken  Chedworth,  Ktly,  Bailey. 
do  give  H.  Rowe.  to  be  ta^en  Walker,  Dyce  ii,  Huds.  ii. 

II.     to  be  given]  to  be  gone  Cap.  Sing.         to  be  gotten  Coll.  ii  (MS). 

11.  given]  Johnson.  The  impropriety  of  the  expression  advantage  to  be  given, 
instead  of  advantage  given,  and  the  disagreeable  repetition  of  the  word  given,  in 
the  next  line,  incline  me  to  read :  * where  there  is  a  'vantage  to  be  gone.*  Advan- 
tage or  ^ vantage f  in  the  time  of  Sh.,  signified  opportunity.  He  shut  up  himself  and 
his  soldiers  (says  Malcolm)  in  the  castle,  because  when  there  is  an  opportunity  to  be 
gone,  they  all  desert  him. 

Steevens.  Read,  if  alteration  be  necessary, « advantage  to  be  got.^     But  the 

words  of  the  text  will  bear  Dr  Johnson's  explanation,  which  is  most  certainly  right : 

*  For  wherever  an  opportunity  of  flight  is  given  them,'  &c. 

Henley.  Where  advantageous  ofiers  are  made  to  allure  the  adherents  of  Macbeth 
to  forsake  him. 

Singer.  We  might  perhaps  read  * advantage  to  be  gained,*  and  the  sense 

would  be  nearly  similar,  with  less  violence  to  the  old  text. — (ed.  i.)  I  now  think 
Dr  Johnson  was  right. — (ed.  2.) 

Collier  (Notes,  &c.,  p.  416).  Advantage  was  hardly  so  much  to  be  *  given*  as  to 
be  procured  by  revolt ;  and  as  it  also  seems  unlikely  that  the  same  verb  should  have 
been  used  in  the  very  next  line,  we  may  feel  confident  that  when  the  (MS)  puts  it 

*  gotten,^  he  was  warranted  in  making  the  change. 

Singer  (Sh.  Find.,  &c.,  p.  260).  *  Gotten^  is  to  my  ear  very  inharmonious. 

Elwin.  Macbeth  has  shut  up  himself  and  his  followers  in  the  castle,  becatise  in 
every  case  in  which  opportunity  must  be  given  them,  both  great  and  small  have  given 
him  the  revolt. 

White.  *  Given '  seems  wrong  for  obvious  reasons ;  and  we  not  improbably  should 
read,  as  Singer  first  suggested,  *gain''d.*  But  I  am  not  sufficiently  sure  upon  the 
point,  to  make  a  change  in  the  old  text. 

Clarendon.  This  passage,  as  it  stands,  is  not  capable  of  any  satisfactory  expla- 
nation.  .   .   .  We  should  have  expected  *was*  rather  than  *is,'  unless,  indeed, 

*  where  *  be  taken  in  the  sense  of  *  wherever.'  The  meaning  is,  *  where  they  had  a 
favourable  opportunity  for  deserting.'  .  .  .  We  rather  incline  to  think  that  the  word 

*  given '  would  not  have  been  used  in  the  second  line,  if  it  had  not  been  already 
used  in  the  first,  a  play  upon  words  very  much  in  Sh.'s  manner.  Perhaps  it  should 
stand  thus :  * advantage  given  to  flee,'  or,  * advantage  to  'em  given.* 

Allen.  Read  *  For  there,  there  is  advantage  to  be  given.'  To  give  advantage  is 
equivalent  to  giving  odds  (as  in  Chess).  He  who  is  in  a  fortress  can  give  odds  of 
ten  to  one  to  the  attacking  party.  Sh.  is  familiar  with  the  idea  of  giving  odds,  e.  g., 
Rich,  n :  I,  i,  62,  'Which  to  maintain  I  would  allow  him  odds,'  and  i  Hen.  IV: 
IV,  iii,  2,  *  You  might  give  him  the  advantage.* 

12.  more  and  less]  Johnson.  The  same  with  greater  and  less.  In  the  interpo- 
lated Mandeville,  a  book  of  that  age,  there  is  a  chapter  of  '  India  the  More  and 
the  Less.* 

Abbott  (\  17).  More  and  most  are  frequently  used  as  the  comparative  and  super* 
lative  of  the  adjective  <  great.*     Thus,  in  the  present  instance,  and  also  in  I  Hen. 

24 


278  MACBETH.  [act  v,  sc.  iv 

And  none  serve  with  him  but  constrained  things 
Whose  hearts  are  absent  too. 

Macd,  Let  our  just  censures 

Attend  the  true  event,  and  put  we  on  15 

Industrious  soldiership. 

Siw,  The  time  approaches, 

That  will  with  due  decision  make  us  know 
What  we  shall  say  we  have  and  what  we  owe. 
Thoughts  speculative  their  unsure  hopes  relate, 
But  certain  issue  strokes  must  arbitrate :  20 

Towards  which  advance  the  war.  [Exeunt,  marching. 

14,  15.  Let,..Attend'\  Let  our  best  Censures  Before  Rowe.  Let  our  best 
Censures  Before  F,F  F^.     Set  our  best        centuries  Before : —  Jackson. 

IV :  IV,  iii,  68 ;  2  Hen.  IV  :  I,  i,  209.  That  *  less '  here  refers  to  rank,  and  not  to 
number,  is  illustrated  by,  *  What  great  ones  do,  the  less  will  prattle  of.' — Twelfth 
Night,  I,  ii,  33. 

14.  censures]  Elwin.  Let  our  just  decisions  on  the  defection  of  Macbeth's  fol- 
lowers attend  upon  the  actual  result  of  the  battle ;  and  let  us,  meanwhile,  be  indus- 
trious soldiers.     That  is,  let  us  not  be  negligent  through  security. 

Clarendon.  The  meaning  of  this  obscurely  worded  sentence  must  be :  In  order 
that  our  opinions  may  be  just,  let  them  await  the  event  that  will  test  their  truth. 
Rowe's  reading  gives  indeed  a  sense,  but  scarcely  that  which  is  required. 

18.  have. ..owe]  Warburton.  Property  and  allegiance. 

Steevens.  When  we  are  governed  by  legal  kings,  we  shall  know  the  limits  of 
their  claim,  i.  e.  shall  know  what  we  have  of  our  own,  and  what  they  have  a  right 
to  take  from  us.     To  owe  is  here  to  possess. 

Mason.  Siward  probably  only  means  to  say,  in  more  pompous  language,  that  the 
time  approached  which  was  to  decide  their  fate. 

Steevens.  Siward,  having  undertaken  the  cause  of  Scotland,  speaks  as  a  Scots- 
man would  have  spoken. 

Singer  (ed.  2).  Both  our  rights  and  our  duties. 

Delius.  Although  Sh.  frequently  uses  to  07ue  in  the  sense  of  to  possess^  yet  in  this 
instance  that  meaning  would  be  tautological,  connected  as  the  word  is  with  '  have ' ; 
it  must  therefore  be  taken  in  its  present  meaning  to  be  indebted.  The  decision  of  the 
battle  will  show  us  what  we  have  and  at  the  same  time  what  it  is  our  duty  yet  to  do. 

Clarendon.  Owe  is  here  used  in  its  ordinary  modern  sense.  Siward  says  that 
the  issue  will  enable  them  to  balance  their  accounts,  as  it  were. 

19.  speculative]  Abbott  (J  468).  [See  II,  iv,  10.  Ed.] 

20.  arbitrate]  Clarendon.  Elsewhere  in  Sh.  it  is  followed  by  an  accusative  in- 
dicating not  the  '  issue,'  but  the  quarrel,  as  Rich.  II :  I,  i,  50,  200;  King  John,  I,  i,  38. 

Hudson  (ed.  2).  Referring,  apparently,  to  Malcolm's  last  speech,  which  proceeds 
somewhat  upon  conjecture  and  seeming  likelihood.  The  old  war-horse  means, 
there's  no  use  in  talking  about  it,  and  eating  the  air  of  expectation ;  nothing  but 
plain,  old-fashioned  fighting  will  decide  the  matter. 

21.  war.]  Steevens.  It  has  been  understood  that  local  rhymes  were  introduced 


ACTV.  SC.V.]  MACBETH.  279 

Scene  V.    Dunsinane.    Within  the  castle^ 

Enter  Macbeth,  Seyton,  and  Soldiers,  with  drum  and  colours, 

Macb.     Hang  out  our  banners  on  the  outward  walls ; 
The  cry  is  still  *  They  come :'  our  castle's  strength 
Will  laugh  a  siege  to  scorn :  here  let  them  lie 
Till  famine  and  the  ague  eat  them  up : 

Were  they  not  forced  with  those  that  should  be  ours,  5 

We  might  have  met  them  dareful,  beard  to  beard, 
And  beat  them  backward  home.  \A  cry  of  women  within. 

What  is  that  noise  ? 

Sey,     It  is  the  cry  of  women,  my  good  lord.  \Exit. 

Dunsinanc.     Within ]   Mai.     The  5.    forced']  'for^d   Han.  Cap.  (Er- 

Castle.  Rowe.    Dunsinane.  Pope.    The  rata),  Ktly.    farc'd  Coll.  ii  (MS). 

Castle  of  D.  Theob.     Before  D.  Han.  7.     [A  cry...]  Dycc,  Sta.  Glo.  Cam 

Dunsinane.     A    Plat-form    within   the  Cla.  Huds.  ii.  A  Cry  within  of  Women. 

Castle.  Cap.  (after  noise  P)  Ff,  et  cet. 

drum  and  colours.]   ....Drum  and  8.     [Exit.]    Dyce,  Sta.  Del.  White, 

Dolours.  Fj.   ...Drums  and  Colours.  F^.  Glo.  Cam.  Cla.  Huds.  ii.  om.  Ff,  et  cet. 

I.     walls ;"]  Cap.    walls,  Ff,  Dav.  +. 

in  plays  to  afford  an  actor  the  advantage  of  a  more  pointed  exit,  or  to  close  a  scene 
with  additional  force.  Yet,  whatever  might  be  Sh.'s  motive  for  continuing  such  a 
practice,  it  may  be  observed  that  he  often  seems  immediately  to  repent  of  it ;  and,  in 
the  tragedy  before  us,  has  repeatedly  counteracted  it  by  hemistichs  which  destroy  the 
effect,  and  consequently  defeat  the  supposed  purpose  of  the  antecedent  couplets. 
See  I,  V,  71;  in,  ii,  56;  IH,  iv,  144;  IV,  i,  156;  V,  ii,  31. 

I.  banners...walls ;]  Keightley.  I  thitik  we  should  punctuate  thus:  'Hang 
out  our  banners !  On  the  outward  walls  The  cry,'  &c.  It  was  from  the  keep,  not 
the  walls,  that  the  banner  (as  perhaps  we  should  read)  was  hung.  We  have,  no 
doubt,  *  Advance  our  waving  colours  on  the  walls,' — Hen.  VI :  I,  vi,  I  j  but  Orleans 
was  a  city,  not  a  mere  castle. 

5.  forced]  Collier  [Notes,  &c.,  p.  417).  Farced  is  misrepresented  'forced'  in 
the  old  copies  and  in  all  modern  eds. ;  but,  as  we  gather  from  the  substitution  of  the 
letter  a  by  the  (MS),  the  meaning  is  that  the  ranks  of  the  besiegers  were  stuffed  or 
filled  out  by  soldiers  who  had  revolted  from  Macbeth. 

Singer  {Sh.  Vind.,  &c.,  p.  260).  'Forced'  is  used  in  the  sense  of  reinforced* 
Tliere  is  nothing  about  their  ranks  being  stuffed  ox  filled  out. 

White.  That  is,  were  they  not  strengthened,  had  they  not  received  an  accession 
of  force. 

Clarendon.  In  Tro.  &  Cress.,  V,  i,  64,  the  word  is  used,  as  *  farced'  elsewhere, 
in  a  culinary  sense. 

6.  dareful]  Clarendon.  This  does  not  occur  again  in  Sh. 

8.  Exit.]  Dyce.  At  line  16,  Collier  observes:  '  We  must  suppose  that  Seyton  has 
gone  to  what  we  now  call  "  the  wing  "  of  the  stage  to  inquire.'     But '  g<)ing  to  the 


28o  MACBETH.  [act  v,  sc.  v. 

Macb,     I  have  almost  forgot  the  taste  of  fears ; 
The  time  has  been,  my  senses  would  have  cool'd  lo 

To  hear  a  night-shriek,  and  my  fell  of  hair 
Would  at  a  dismal  treatise  rouse  and  stir 
As  life  were  in  *t :  I  have  supp'd  full  with  horrors ; 

lo.     cool'd^  quaiVd  CoU.  ii  (MS),  u.     night'ShrUk'\  Night-shriek  Fj. 

Ktly,  Huds.  ii.  13.     supfd  fuWl  surfeited  Han. 

wing '  and  standing  there  to  glean  information  was  surely  as  unusual  on  the  old  stage 
as  it  is  on  the  modem ;  and  I  have  no  doubt  that  formerly  Seyton  went  out  and  re- 
entered, just  as  he  does  when  this  play  is  performed  now-a-days. 

Clarendon.  Perhaps  Seyton  should  not  leave  the  stage,  but  an  attendant  should 
come  and  whisper  the  news  of  the  Queen's  death  to  him. 

10.  cool'd]  M ALONE.  The  blood  is  sometimes  said  to  be  chilled;  but  I  do  not 
recollect  any  other  instance  in  which  this  phrase  is  applied  to  the  senses.  Perhaps 
Sh.  wrote  \oiVd ;  my  senses  would  have  shrunk  back,  died  within  me.  So  in 
V,  ii,  23. 

Collier  (Notest  &c.,  p.  417).  The  (MS)  here  has  quailed  for  'cool'd',  a  much 
more  forcible  word ;  but  this  is  one  of  the  places  where  it  is  possible  that  the  person 
recommending  the  change  may  have  exercised  his  taste,  rather  than  stated  his  know- 
ledge. It  seems  scarcely  likely  that  one  word  should  have  been  mistaken  for  the 
other,  but  this  observation  will,  of  course,  apply  to  many  of  the  extraordinary  errors 
that  have  been  from  time  to  time  pointed  out. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  [The  alteration  of  the  (MS)]  is  very  plausible;  for  examples  of  the 
expression  senses  quailing  may  be  found  in  our  early  writers. 

Keightley.  *That  so  to  see  him  made  her  heart  to  quail,* — Fairy  Queen, 
iv,  3,  46. 

Clarendon.  *  Cool '  is  sometimes  found  in  a  sense  stronger  than  that  which  it 
bears  in  modem  language,  as  King  John,  II,  i,  479. 

11.  night-shriek]  Delius.  He  is  thinking  perhaps  of  the  night  of  Duncan's 
murder,  and  when  he  said  '  every  noise  appals  me.* 

Clarendon.  The  words  that  follow  seem  to  imply  that  he  is  referring  to  still 
earlier  days  than  the  time  referred  to  by  Delius,  when  his  feelings  were  unblunted, 
and  his  conscience  unburdened  with  guilt. 

fell  of  hair]  Johnson.  My  hairy  part,  my  capillitium.     Fell  is  skin. 

Steevens.  In  Lear,  V,  iii,  24,  *  flesh  and  fell.'  A  dealer  in  hides  is  still  called  a 
y^r/Z-monger. 

Dyce  [Gloss).  Hairy  scalp. 

Clarendon.  Cotgrave  has,  *  Peau  :  a  skin  ;  fell^  hide,  or  pelt.'  Florio  gives :  Velio, 
a  fleece,  a  fell  or  skin  that  hath  wooll  on.' 

Nichols  (ii,  8).  I  think  it  means  crop, — the  crop  of  hair.  The  word  is  used  in 
this  sense,  and  is  common  enough,  in  Norfolk  and  the  adjacent  counties ;  it  is  a  term 
in  woodcraft,  and  applied  to  the  underwood,  because  it  is  periodically /^//^d'.  We 
must  remember  that  Macbeth  is  speaking  of  his  earlier  life,  when  the  hair  grows  fast 
and  is  periodically  cut. 

13.  As]  See  I,  iv,  11. 

with]  Clarendon.  This  must  be  joined  here  in  construction  not  to  'full,'^ut 
•  supp'd.*     See  IV,  ii,  32;  and  Meas.  for  Meas.,  IV,  iii,  159. 


ACT  V,  sc.  vj  MA CBETH.  28 1 

Direness,  familiar  to  my  slaughterous  thoughts, 
Cannot  once  start  me. — 

Re-enter  Seyton. 

Wherefore  was  that  cry  ?  15 

Sey,    The  queen,  my  lord,  is  dead. 
Macb,     She  should  have  died  hereafter ; 
There  would  have  been  a  time  for  such  a  word. 

15.  once\  now  Han.  16.     my  lard']  om.  Pope,  Han. 
Re-enter  Seyton.]    Dyce,   Del.             I7»  18.     died  hereafter ;  There]  died , 

Sta.  White,  Glo.  Cam.  Cla.  Huds.  ii.         hereafter  There  Jackson, 
om.  Ff,  et  cet. 

16.  dead]  Edinburgh  Review  {July,  1840,  p.  491).  It  is  one  of  the  finest 
thoughts  in  the  whole  drama,  that  Lady  Macbeth  should  die  before  her  husband ;  for 
not  only  does  this  exhibit  him  in  a  new  light,  equally  interesting  morally  and  psycho- 
logically,  but  it  prepares  a  gradual  softening  of  the  horror  of  the  catastrophe.  Mac- 
beth, left  alone,  resumes  much  of  that  connexion  with  humanity  which  he  had  so  long 
abandoned;  his  thoughtfulness  becomes  pathetic, — his  sickness  of  heart  awakens 
sympathy ;  and  when  at  last  he  dies  the  death  of  a  soldier,  the  stem  satisfaction  with 
which  we  contemplate  the  act  of  justice  that  destroys  him  is  unalloyed  by  feelings 
of  personal  wrath  or  hatred.     His  fall  is  a  sacrifice,  not  a  butchery. 

18.  word]  Johnson.  It  is  not  apparent  for  what  word  there  would  have  been  a 
time,  and  that  there  would  or  would  not  be  a  time  for  any  word,  seems  not  a  con- 
sideration of  importance  sufficient  to  transport  Macbeth  into  such  an  exclamation. 

I  read  therefore:  * a  time  for — such  a  world! — *     It  is  a  broken  speech,  in 

which  only  part  of  the  thought  is  expressed,  and  may  be  paraphrased  thus :  The 
queen  is  dead.  Macbeth,  Her  death  should  have  been  deferred  to  some  more 
peaceful  hour ;  had  she  lived  longer,  there  would  at  length  have  been  a  time  for  the 
honours  due  to  her  as  a  queen,  and  that  respect  which  I  owe  her  for  her  fidelity  and 
love.  Such  is  the  world — such  is  the  condition  of  human  life,  that  we  always  think 
to-morrow  will  be  happier  than  to-day,  but  to-morrow  and  to-morrow  steals  over  us 
unenjoyed  and  unregarded,  and  we  still  linger  in  the  same  expectation  to  the  mo- 
ment appointed  for  our  end.  All  these  days,  which  have  thus  passed  away,  have 
sent  multitudes  of  fools  to  the  grave,  who  were  engrossed  by  the  same  dream  of 
future  felicity,  and,  when  life  was  departing  from  them,  were,  like  me,  reckoning  on 
to-morrow. 

Such  was  once  my  conjecture,  but  I  am  now  less  confident.  Macl^eth  might 
mean  that  there  would  have  been  a  more  convenient  time  for  such  a  word,  for  such 
intelligence,  and  so  fall  into  the  following  reflection.  We  say  we  send  word  when 
we  give  intelligence. 

Steevens.  By — a  word,  Sh.  certainly  means  more  than  a  single  one.  Thus,  in 
Rich.  II :  I,  iii,  152  :  '  The  hopeless  word  of — never  to  return,* 

Arrowsmith  (iV.  and  Qu.,  1  September,  1855,  vol.  xii,  p.  157).  I  have  often- 
times wondered  how  the  reputed  moralist  Johnson  could  ever  have  persuaded  him- 
self that  the  homily  of  his  paraphrase  was  in  unison  with  Macbeth*s  antecedents,  or 
with  the  immediate  context;  that  it  was,  I  say,  of  a  piece  with  the  reflections  issu- 
24* 


282  MA  CBETH.  [act  v.  sc.  v. 

To-morrow,  and  to-morrow,  and  to-morrow, 

Creeps  in  this  petty  pace  from  day  to  day,  20 

To  the  last  syllable  of  recorded  time ; 

20.    Creeps]  Creep  Cap.  conj. 

ing  from  the  lips,  and  passing  through  the  brain,  of  this  remorseless  butcher  of  the 
widow  and  the  orphan,  who  now,  hardened  by  guilt,  and  to  all  good  feeling  repro- 
bate, at  length  brought  to  bay,  bids  sullen  defiance  to  whatever  can  betide  him. 
Mark  the  current  of  the  story.  To  Macbeth,  contrasting  his  then  callous  indiffer- 
ence in  the  apprehension  of  real  calamities  with  his  former  sensitiveness,  when  a 
night-shriek  or  tale  of  imaginary  woe  would  have  awakened  groundless  fears,  Seyton 
announces  the  death  of  his  wife;  apparently  absorbed  in  his  own  thoughts,  and 
exhibiting  no  more  consciousness  of  the  other's  presence  than  to  make  the  subject 
of  his  report  the  cue  for  the  farther  pursuit  of  his  own  meditations,  the  usurper  con- 
tinues his  soliloquy,  and  with  unaltered  mood  sees  in  that  event  nothing  but  an 
inevitable  necessity.  And  so  far  is  he  from  regarding  one  time  as  more  convenient 
than  another,  that  the  whole  tenour  of  his  subsequent  remarks  evinces  his  convic- 
tion to  be,  that  it  makes  no  odds  at  what  point  in  the  dull  round  of  days  man's  life 
may  terminate.  If  she  had  not  died  now,  reasons  he,  she  should  have  died  here- 
after :  there  would  have  been  a  time  when  such  tidings  must  have  been  brought, — 
such  a  tale  told.  The  word  was  of  course  the  word  brought  by  Seyton  of  the 
queen's  decease :  *  The  queen,  my  lord,  is  dead.'  Dr  Johnson's  blunder  grew  out 
of  obliviousness  or  inadvertence  that  *  should  *  is  used  indifferently  to  denote  either 
what  will  be  or  what  ought  to  be ;  that  the  tyrant  discourses  of  the  certainty ^  not 
murmurs  at  the  untimeliness^  of  his  partner's  death.     See  Mer.  of  Ven.,  I,  ii,  100. 

19.  to-morrow]  Halliwell.  It  is  not  impossible  that  Sh.  may  here  have  recol- 
lected a  remarkable  engraving  in  Barclay's  Ship  of  Fooles,  1 570,  copied  from  that 
in  the  older  Latin  version  of  1498 : 

'  They  folowe  the  crowcs  cryc  to  their  great  sorowe, 

Cras,  eras,  eras,  to-morowc  wc  shall  amende, 
And  if  we  mend  not  then,  then  shall  we  the  next  morowe. 
Or  els  shortly  after  wc  shall  no  more  ofTende  ; 
Amende,  mad  foole,  when  Gud  this  grace  doth  sende.' 

Allen.  Each  day,  that  has  successively  become  yesterday^  has  been  a  to-morrowt 
and  (as  such)  has  been  an  ignis  fatutis^  lighting  fools  the  way  to  death.  That  Sh. 
had  this  meteoric  phenomenon  in  his  mind  appears  certain,  from  the  fact  that  his 
words  give  a  correct  translation  of  its  Latin  name  and  define  its  office.  Ipiis  fatuus 
(by  the  idiomatic  substitution  of  grammatical  for  logical  concord)  is  Fools'  light — a 
light  which,  creeping  along  in  advance,  deceives  and  makes  fools  of  men,  and  so 
lights  them  the  way^  through  the  darkness,  to  death.  As  Sh.  called  Ophelia's  drown- 
ing in  the  shallow  brook  a  muddy  death,  so  it  may  have  occurred  to  him  here  to  call 
the  death  of  the  wayfarer,  in  the  night,  a  dusky  death. 

20.  Creeps]  Clarendon.  Capell  proposed  to  read  Creep ;  but  in  this  particular 
case  the  singular  seems  more  suitable  to  the  sense,  •  each  to-morrow  creeps,'  &c. 

See  I,  iii,  147;  and  III,  ii,  37.  Ed. 

21.  time]  M.  Mason.  Sh.  means  not  only  the  time  that  has  been^  but  the  time  that 
shall  be  recorded. 

Steevens.  Recorded  is  probably  here  used  for  recording  or  recordable,  one  parti- 
ciple for  another. 


ACT  V,  sc.  v.]  MA  CBETH.  283 

And  all  our  yesterdays  have  lighted  fools 

The  way  to  dusty  death.     Out,  out,  brief  candle ! 

23.    dusty^  study  F^F^F^,  Rowe,  Pope,  Cap.  dusky  Theob.  conj.  Han.  Warb.  Elwin. 

Elwin.  This  refers  to  time  prophetically  recorded  as  yet  to  come,  and  means  the 
day  of  Judgement.  See  Rev.,  x,  5,  6. 

Dalgleish.  Time  of  which  a  record  shall  be  kept,  as  opposed  to  eternity. 

Hudson  (ed.  2).  It  means  simply  the  last  syllable  of  the  record  of  time.  See  I, 
vi,  3;  III,  iv,  76,  for  other  instances  of  prolepsis. 

22,  23.  GuizoT  translates  *  et  tons  nos  hiers  n'  ont  travailli,  les  imbeciles,  qu'  &  nous 
abriger  le  chemin  de  la  mort  poudreuse ;'  and  adds  thereto  the  note :  To  light  se 
prend  quelquefois  pour  to  lighten^  alliger,  et  je  crois  que  c*en  est  ici  la  signification. 
Les  jours  passes  n'ont  point  iclairi^  mais  alligi  ou  abrigi,  le  chemin  que  nous  avons 
&  faire  jusqu'  it  la  mort.  Les  commentateurs  ne  paraissent  pas  I'avoir  entendu  dans 
ce  sens. 

22.  fools]  Hunter.  I  have  often  looked  at  this  passage  with  despair  of  being 
able  to  trace  the  coherence  which  we  expect,  notwithstanding  the  distracted  state  of 
mind  of  Macbeth,  and  have  regarded  it,  not  as  a  passage  that  has  come  down  to  us 
corrupted,  but  as  one  of  those  thrown  off  by  this  free  spirit,  in  which  he  trusted  to  a 
certain  general  effect^  without  being  solicitous  about  the  enquiries  of  a  too  cold  criti- 
cism. But  having  found  in  a  contemporary  writer  the  word  foules  used  for  crowds^ 
it  occurred  to  me  that  {ox  fools  we  might  it2id  foules  in  this  sense  of  crvu*ds^  and  this 
led  to  what  may  have  been  the  real  intention  of  the  Poet.  Macbeth,  when  he  hears 
of  the  death  of  his  lady,  thinks  first  of  the  unseasonableness  of  the  time ;  some  time 
*  hereafter  *  would  have  been  the  time  for  such  a  piece  of  intelligence  as  this ;  this 
introduces  the  idea  of  the  disposition  there  is  in  man  X.o procrastinate  in  everything; 
we  are  forever  saying  *  tomorrow,*  and  this  though  we  see  men  dying  around  us, 
every  *  yesterday  *  having  conducted  crowds  of  human  beings  to  the  grave.  This 
introduces  more  general  ideas  of  the  vanity  of  man,  who  *  walketh  in  a  vain  show, 
and  is  disquieted  in  vain,'  a  passage  of  Scripture  which  seems  to  have  been  in  the 
Poet's  mind  when  he  wrote  what  follows ;  as  is  also  ...  *  we  spend  our  years  as  a 
tale  that  is  told.'  Sh.'s  intimate  acquaintance  with  the  Scriptures,  observable  in  all 
his  plays,  is  shewn  sometimes  in  a  broad  and  palpable  allusion  or  adaptation,  and 
sometimes,  as  here,  in  passages  of  which  the  germ  only  is  in  that  book.  At  the  same 
time  there  is  something  in  this  passage  partaking  of  the  desperation  of  the  thane's 
position,  and  perhaps  intended  to  shew  what  thoughts  possess  a  mind  like  his,  bur* 
thened  with  heavy  guilt,  and  having  some  reason  to  think  retribution  near  at  hand. 
The  word  foule  for  crowd  occurs  in  Archibold's  Evangelical  Fruit  of  the  Seraphical 
Franciscan  Order,  1628,  MS  Harl.,  3888,  *  The  faule  of  people  past  over  him  in 
time  of  sermon,*  f.  81. 

Clarendon.  Macbeth  is  misanthropist  enough  to  call  all  mankind  *  fools.* 

23.  dusty]  Theobald.  Perhaps  Sh.  might  have  wrote,  dusky,  i.  e.,  dark,  a  word 
very  familiar  with  him. 

Steevens.  *  The  dust  of  death  *  is  an  expression  in  the  22d  Psalm.  *  Dusty 
death  *  alludes  to  the  expression  of  *  dust  to  dust  *  in  the  burial  service. 

Douce.  Perhaps  no  quotation  can  be  better  calculated  to  show  the  propriety  of 
this  epithet  than  the  following  grand  lines  in  *The  Vision  of  Piers  Plowman^  a  work 
which  Sh.  might  have  seen : 


284  MACBETH.  [actv,  sc.  V. 

Life  s  but  a  walking  shadow,  a  poor  player 

That  struts  and  frets  his  hour  upon  the  stage  25 

And  then  is  heard  no  more :  it  is  a  tale 

Told  by  an  idiot,  full  of  sound  and  fury, 

Signifying  nothing. — 

'Death  came  drivynge  after,  and  all  to  dust  pashed 
Kynges  and  kaysen,  knigbtes  and  popes.* 

Collier.  Sh.  was  not  the  first  to  apply  the  epithet  *  dusty  *  to  death.  Anthony 
Copley,  in  his  ^Fig  for  Fortune,*  1 596,  has  this  line :  *  Inviting  it  to  dusty  death's 
defeature.* 

Elwin.  That  the  feeling  which  possesses  Macbeth  is,  that  light  has  effected 
nothing  more  for  folly  but  only  to  light  it  on  its  way  into  darkness  (and  that  there- 
fore dusky  is  the  true  reading),  the  turn  of  thought  in  which  he  pursues  this  soliloquy 
affords  ample  proof.  Life,  ending  in  darkness,  suggests  the  idea  of  connecting  it 
with  darkness  as  a  shadow, — a  something  akin  to  that  blackness,  to  which  it  is  prose- 
cuting its  way.  The  brief  candle  is  the  day, — the  time  that  the  day  gives  for  life ; 
and  the  living  man  is  the  shadow  walking  between  this  lig/it  and  that  dusky  death  to 
which  it  is  lighting  him. 

Clarendon.  *  Dusky '  seems  too  feeble  an  epithet  to  describe  the  darkness  of  the 
grave,  and  we  should  moreover  be  very  chary  of  making  alterations  in  the  text  on 
account  of  any  apparent  confusion  of  metaphor. 

23.  Out]  Coleridge  (i,  252).  Alas  for  Macbeth !  now  all  is  inward  with  him ; 
he  has  no  more  prudential  prospective  reasonings.  His  wife,  the  only  being  who 
could  have  had  any  seat  in  his  affections,  dies ;  he  puts  on  despondency,  the  final 
heart-armour  of  the  wretched,  and  would  fain  think  everything  shadowy  and  unsub- 
stantial, as  indeed  all  things  are  to  those  who  cannot  regard  them  as  symbols  of 
goodness. 

24-26.  a  poor  .  .  .  more :]  Harry  Rowe.  I  have  omitted  these  lines,  con- 
sidering them  as  a  play-house  interpolation,  and  what  Sh.  would  never  have  put  into 
the  mouth  of  a  great  man  labouring  under  violent  perturbation. 

24.  player]  Clarendon.  For  references  to  the  stage  see  I,  iii,  128;  II,  iv,  5,  6; 
also  Tro.  and  Cress.,  I,  iii,  153. 

Birch  (p.  449).  The  light  of  revelation,  faith,  and  hope,  according  to  Sh.,  have 
shown  us  fools  the  way  to  dusty  death.  This  life,  that  Christians  humbly  imagine 
gives  evidence  of  the  attributes  of  eternfty,  signifies  nothing,  is  a  tale  told  by  an  idiot ; 
and  by  whom  is  the  tale  said  to  be  told  but  by  its  maker?  How  often  have  we  been 
told  by  Sh.  that  we  are  fools,  death's  fools,  and  here  we  have  it  repeated  with  one 
of  the  material  epithets  usually  assigned  to  the  end  of  man — dusty.  We  have  again 
Jaques's  *  all  the  world's  a  stage,  and  all  the  men  are  players,'  with  parts  as  brief  .is 
at  the  Blackfriars,  or  in  the  Globe  on  Bankside.  There  we  had  the  last  scene  of  his 
sad,  eventful  history,  *sans  everything;'  but  here,  of  his  hopes  we  have  the  stern 
echo  of  Sh.'s  materialism,  which,  like  an  owl  amidst  ruins,  cries, '  No  more  !'  There 
are  three  lines  of  Catullus,  which  have  always  been  supposed  to  express  his  disbe- 
lief in  a  future  state,  if  not  his  atheism.  In  this  speech  of  Macbeth's  we  have  a 
similarity  of  idea  in  the  opening  line,  an  exact  translation  of  two  words  in  the 
second,  and  the  last  contain^,  word  for  word,  the  constant  expressions,  elsewhere, 
of  Sh.  on  Death : — 


ACT  V.  sc.  v.]  MA  CBETH.  285 

Enter  a  Messenger. 

Thou  comest  to  use  thy  tongue ;  thy  story  quickly. 

Mess,     Gracious  my  lord,  30 

I  should  report  that  which  I  say  I  saw, 
But  know  not  how  to  do  it. 

Macb.  Well,  say,  sir. 

Mess.     As  I  did  stand  my  watch  upon  the  hill, 
I  look'd  toward  Birnam,  and  anon,  methought, 
The  wood  began  to  move. 

Macb,  Liar  and  slave !  35 

Mess.     Let  me  endure  your  wrath,  if 't  be  not  so : 
Within  this  three  mile  may  you  see  it  coming ; 

30.  Gracious  fny\  My  gracious  F^F^  32.  5ay\  say  it  Pope,  +,  Cap.  Lett- 
F^,  Rowe,  + .  som,  Huds.  ii. 

31.  j^^7«/d']  jA<2// Reed,  1803, 1813,  34»44«  Birnam]  BymaneY^,  By r- 
Var.  Sing,  i,  Coll.  White.  nam  F,F  . 

/  sayl  rd  say  Han.  Cap.  Lett-  35.     [Striking  him.    Rowe,  +,  Cap. 

som,  Huds.  ii.  Jen.  Steev.  Var.  Knt. 

32.  do  it"]  Steev.  dodt  ¥^^,  ddt  37.  may  you'\  you  mayY^^^Vss^^^ 
FjF^,   Dav.   +,   Cap.   Jen.   Var.    Coll.  Pope,  Han. 

White,  Del.  Huds.  ii. 

Soles  occidere  et  redire  potsunt, 
Nobis,  cum  semel  occidit  brevis  lux, 
Nox  est  perpetuo  una  dormienda. 

The  conclusion  of  Macbeth*s  speech  is  similar  to  a  line  in  the  Troades  of  Seneca : 
*  Post  mortem  nihil  est,  ipsaque  mors  nihil.*  Campbell  jnight  have  written  of  Sh. 
those  celebrated  lines  on  Atheism,  whCl'e  he  speaks  of  the  brief  candle  as  *  mo- 
mentary fire,*  which  *  lights  to  the  grave  his  chance-erected  form.*  [Let  not  the 
reader  forget  the  avowed  aim  of  the  book  from  which  this  extract,  simply  os  a 
•specimen  brick,*  is  taken.  Ed.] 

29,  30.  thy  .  .  .  lord]  Lettsom  (ap.  Dyce,  ed.  2)  would  read  this  as  one  line. 

31.  should]  Seel,  ii,  46;  I,  iii,  45. 

I  say]  Keightley  [reading  Gracious  .  .  .  which  as  one  line].  *I  say*  is  need- 
less and  spoils  the  measure.     It  arose  from  *  say  *  in  the  next  line. 

35.  move]  Collier.  So  in  Deloney's  ballad  in  praise  of  Kentishmen,  published 
in  *  Strange  Histories^  1607  (reprinted  by  the  Percy  Society),  they  conceal  their  num- 
bers by  the  boughs  of  trees. 

Dyce  (Remarks ,  &c.,  p.  202).  This  incident  was  versified  by  Deloney  from  a 
passage  in  that  very  Holinshed  who  supplied  Sh.  with  the  materials  for  Macbeth. 

Deli  us.  For  dramatic  purposes  Sh.  has  here  somewhat  shortened  the  distance  of 
twelve  miles  between  Birnam  and  Dunsinane. 

Kemble  (p.  no).  Rowe*s  stage-direction  is  irreconcilable  to  Macbeth*s  emo- 
tions ;  such  violence  does  not  belong  to  the  feelings  of  a  person  overwhelmed  with 
surprise,  half-doubting,  half-believing. 

37.  this]  Clarendon.  We  have  the  singular  pronoun  used  with  a  numeral,  even 


a86  HA  CBETH.  [ACT  v,  «c.  ir. 

I  say,  a  moving  grove. 

Macb.  If  thou  speak'st  false, 

Upon  the  next  tree  shalt  thou  hang  alive, 

Till  &mine  cling  thee :  if  thy  speech  be  sooth,  40 

I  care  not  if  thou  dost  for  me  as  much. — 

59.    sk«U£\  shatt  F,. 

when  the  substantive  which  follows  is  put  in  the  plural,  as  in  i  Hen.  IV :  III,  iii,  54. 
For  the  singular  <  mile '  see  Much  Ado,  II,  iii,  17. 

40.  cling]  Stbevbns.  Clw^  in  the  Noithem  counties  signifies  anjrthing  that  is 
shrivelled  or  shrunk  up.    By  famine  the  intestines  are,  as  it  were,  stuck  together. 

Whalley.  That  is,  tiU  it  drytkiemp^ixtxkamimUtkyfmcuHtre.  Oungwood  is 
that  of  which  the  sap  is  entirely  dried  or  spent. 

Collier.  See  Holloway*s  Generai  JProuinciaiDict.^  1838.  In  Sir  F.  Madden's 
admirable  Glossary  to  '  Syr  Gawayne,'  1839,  elmged  is  interpreted  <  contracted  or 
shrunk  with  cold.'  In  the  present  case  it  may  therefore  mean  *  till  famine  shrink 
thee.' 

Haluwell.  Collier  is  certainly  right  in  explaining  ding  to  shrink,  the  meaning 
given  by  Kennett  in  MS  Lansd.,  1033.  It  is  from  A.  S.  c&ngan,  Kennett  has  also 
*ehingf  dinged  or  shrunk  up;'  and  in  Eliote's  Dutionariet  1559,  is  the  following 
entry — *Coriago  the  sickenesse  of  cattail  whan  they  are  doungt,  that  their  skynnes 
dooe  deve  fast  to  their  bodies,  hyde  bounde.'  It  should  be  observed  that  in  the 
Craven  Glossary,  i,  79,  clung  is  explained  <  hungry,  or  empty,  emadated,'  which  per- 
haps agrees  still  better  with  the  present  context.  On  the  whole,  I  should  explain 
cling  in  this  place  *  to  wither,'  no  single  word  better  expressing  the  intended  force  of 
the  threat. 

Thee  nettdie  day  hit  makith  cfyng.^Kyng  AUtaunder,  915. 

My  bonys  were  strox^,  and  myghtyly  made ; 
But  now  thei  cfyngt^  and  waxe  all  drye. 

Seven  Peneieniial  Psalms,  ed.  Black,  p.  39. 

Dyce  (Gloss,)  It  means,  I  suspect,  'make  the  entrails  stick  together;'  compare 
Donne,  *  As  to  a  stomack  sterv'd,  whose  insides  mcete,*  &c. —  The  Storntf, — Poems^ 
p.  57,  ed.  1633. 

G.  H.  OF  S.  (N,  and  Qu.,  4  March,  1865.)  About  Leeds,  clam  is  used  in  the 
sense  of  *  to  pinch  * ;  as,  *  I*se  clammed  wi'  hunger.*  About  Newcastle-upon-Tyne 
it  is  written  and  pronounced  clem.  The  word  *  clams '  is  also  the  technical  name  for 
nippers  or  pinchers  used  in  various  trades.     I  suggest :  *  till  famine  clam  thee.' 

Clarendon.  Wither,  shrivel,  generally  used  as  an  intransitive  verb.  Compare 
Vision  of  Piers  Ploughman^  901 1 :  *  Or  whan  thou  clomsest  for  cold  Or  clyngest  for 
drye.*  Miege  (Fr,  Diet.,  1688)  has,  *  Clung  with  hunger,  maigre,  sec,  elanci,  comme 
nne  personne  affam^e  ;*  and  '  To  clung,  as  wood  will  do  being  laid  up  after  it  is  cut, 
secher,  devenir  sec*  Moor,  in  his  Suffolk  JVords,  gives:  *  Clung :  shrunk,  dried, 
shrivelled;  said  of  apples,  turnips,  carrots,*  &c.  Compare  Atkinson's  Glossary  of  the 
Cleveland  Dialect^  s.  v.  *  Clung.* 

[See  Brockett,  North  Country  fVords,  &c.,  sub  Clam,  Cling,  and  Clung;  FoRBY, 
Vocab,  of  East  Anglia,  sub  Clung;  and  Morris,  Glossary  of  Furncss,  sub  Clam 
and  Clem,  All  to  the  same  effect  of  pinching,  or  drying  up  from  hunger  or  thirst. 
Ed.] 


ACT  V.  sc.  v.]  MACBETH.  287 

I  pull  in  resolution,  and  begin 

To  doubt  the  equivocation  of  the  fiend 

That  lies  like  truth  :  '  Fear  not,  till  Birnam  wood 

Do  come  to  Dunsinane  ;*  and  now  a  wood  45 

Comes  toward  Dunsinane. — Arm,  arm,  and  out! — 

If  this  which  he  avouches  does  appear. 

There  is  nor  flying  hence  nor  tarrying  here. 

I  'gin  to  be  a-weary  of  the  sun. 

And  wish  the  estate  o*  the  world  were  now  undone. —  50 

Ring  the  alarum-bell ! — Blow,  wind  !  come,  wrack ! 

46.     toward^  towards  Warb.  Johns.  +,Jen.     w^tfry  Johns. 

47-50.     Om.  as  spurious,  Anon.*  50.     /Ae  tsta/f']  Cap. /A*  fsfa/eF(,  Day, 

48.  norjlying]  no  flying  FjF^,  Pope,  Rowe,  Jen.  Coll.  White,  Dyce  ii,  Huds. 
Han.  Jen.  ii.    the  state  Vop^^  ■\- » 

49.  a-weary\  a  weary  F^^F  F^,  Rowe, 

42.  puU  in]  Johnson.  As  this  is  a  phrase  without  either  example,  elegance,  or 
propriety,  it  is  surely  better  to  read :  pall  in.  I  languish  in  my  constancy,  my  confi- 
dence begins  to  forsake  me.  It  is  scarcely  necessary  to  observe  how  easily  pall  might 
he  changed  into/«//by  a  negligent  writer,  or  mistaken  for  it  by  an  unskilful  printer. 

Steevens.  There  is  surely  no  need  of  change.  He  had  permitted  his  courage 
(like  a  fiery  horse)  to  carry  him  to  the  brink  of  a  precipice,  but,  seemg  his  danger, 
resolves  to  check  that  confidence  to  which  he  had  given  the  rein  before. 

M.  Mason.  This  reading  is  supported  by  a  passage  in  Fletcher's  Sea  Voyage^  where 

Aminta  says :  * and  all  my  spirits.  As  if  they  heard  my  passing  bell  go  for  me. 

Pull  in  their  powers t  and  give  me  up  to  destiny.' 

White.  Not  a  very  happy  phrase;  but  there  seems  no  reason  to  suspect  a  corrup- 
tion. We  have  'profound  respects  do  pull  you  on,'  in  King  John,  III,  i,  318.  Dr 
Johnson's  conjecture,  although  it  is  one  of  the  obvious  kind,  is  very  plausible. 

Clarendon.  [Either  Dr  Johnson's  emendation]  or  *  I  pale  in,'  &c.,  better  ex- 
presses the  required  sense,  involuntary  loss  of  heart  and  hope.  Besides,  as  the  text 
stands,  we  must  emphasize  *  in '  contrary  to  the  rhythm  of  the  verse. 

49.  aweary]  For  instances  of  adverbs  with  prefix  a- :  First,  before  nouns,  where 
the  a-  represents  some  preposition,  as  *  in,'  *on,'  *  of,'  &c.,  contracted  by  rapidity  of 
pronunciation ;  Second,  before  adjectives  and  participles,  used  as  nouns ;  Third,  as 
the  prefix  of  participles  and  adjectives,  where  (as  in  the  present  instance)  a-  repre- 
sents a  corruption  of  the  A.-S.  intensive  of  see  Abbott,  J  24.  *  It  can  scarcely  be 
said  that  weary  is  a  noun  in  "  a-weary,"  but  rather,  like  "  <?/^walked,"  it  means 
"  of-yft^ivy"  i.  e.,  tired  out.* 

50.  estate]  Clarendon.  The  world's  settled  order. 

51.  Ring...bell]  Theobald  (Sh.  Restored,  1726,  p.  157).  Is  it  ever  customary  in 
a  besieg'd  Town  to  order  an  Alarum,  or  Sally,  by  the  ringing  of  a  Bell  ?  Or  rather 
was  not  this  Business  always  done  by  Beat  of  Drum  ?  In  short  I  believe  these  Words 
were  a  Stage  Direction  crept  from  the  Margin  into  the  Text  thro'  the  last  Line  but 
One  being  deficient  without  them,  occasioned  probably  by  a  Cut  that  had  been  made 
in  the  Speech  by  the  Actors.  They  were  a  Memorandum  to  the  Promptor  to  ring 
the  A  la  rum-bell t  i.  e.  the  Bell,  perhaps  at  that  Time  used,  to  warn  the  Tragedy-Drum 


288  MACBETH,  [act  v.  sc.  vi. 

At  least  we'll  die  with  harness  on  our  back.  \Exeunt 


Scene  VI.     Dunsinane,    Before  the  castle. 

Drum  and  colours.    Enter  Malcolm,  old  Siward,  Macduff,  and  their  Army. 

with  boughs, 

Mai,     Now  near  enough ;  your  leavy  screens  throw  down, 
And  show  like  those  you  are. — You,  worthy  uncle. 
Shall,  with  my  cousin,  your  right-noble  son. 
Lead  our  first  battle :  worthy  Macduff  and  we 
Shall  take  upon  *s  what  else  remains  to  do,  5 

According  to  our  order. 

Shv,  Fare  you  well. 

Do  we  but  find  the  tyrant's  power  to-night, 

Dunsinane.     Before...]  Before  Mac-  White,  Huds.  ii. 

beth's  Castle.  Rowe.  Before  Dunsinane.  3.    right-nodle']Theoh.  right  nod/eFf, 

Pope,  +.     The  same.    Plain  before  the  Dav.  Rowe,  Pope,  Han.  Jen.  Sing.  Cam. 

castle.  Cap.  4.     worth}^']  brave  Pope,  + . 

Drum  and  colours.]  Ff.  om.  Rowe,  +  .  5.     uponW\  «/(7«  «j  Cap.  Steev.  Var. 

I.     Rowe.     Two  lines,  Ff.  Sing.  Knt,  Ktly,  Del. 

lea'vy\  Ff.  leafy  Coll.  Dyce,  Sta.  7.     Do  we']  Let  us  Pope,  Han. 

and  Trumpets  to  be  ready  to  sound  an  Alarm.  And  what  confirms  me  in  this  Sus- 
picion, is,  that  for  the  four  Pages  immediately  following,  it  is  all  along  quoted  in  the 
Margin,  Alarum^hc 

52.  harness]  Halliwell.  *  On  the  fryday,  which  was  Candlemasse  daie  (Feb. 
2,  1553-4),  the  most  parte  of  the  householders  of  London,  with  the  Maior  and  alder- 
men, were  in  harnesse  ;  yea  this  day  and  other  daies  the  justices,  sergeants  at  the  law, 
and  other  lawyers  in  Westminster-hal,  pleaded  in  harnesse.^ — Stowe's  Chronicle. 

Clarendon.  So  i  Kings,  xxii,  34,  '  smote  the  King  of  Israel  between  the  joints 
of  the  harness.* 

I.  leavy]  Delius.  We  have  '  leavy '  rhyming  with  heavy  in  Much  Ado,  II,  iii,  75. 

Clarendon.  So  Cotgrave,  '  feuillu  :  leauie.^ 

4.  battle]  Nares.  The  main  or  middle  body  of  an  army,  between  the  van  and 
rear.  See  Strutt  on  the  Manners  and  Customs y  &c.,  iii,  2,  where  is  an  account  from 
an  old  MS  of  the  method  of  regulating  these  divisions. 

Clarendon.  Sometimes  used  of  a  whole  army  in  order  of  battle,  as  in  King 
John,  IV,  ii,  78,  and  i  Hen.  IV:  IV,  i,  129. 

Craik  {A^ote  on  *  Their  battles  are  at  hand.' — Jul.  Caes.,  V,  i,  4).  What  might 
now  be  called  a  battalion. 

[See  Holinshed,  Appendix,  p.  361.  Ed.] 

5.  to  do]  Abbott  (J  359).  The  infinitive  active  is  often  found  where  we  use  the 
passive.  This  is  especially  common  in  '  what's  to  do '  for  *  what's  to  be  done,*  See 
also  \  405. 

7.  Do]  For  the  subjunctive  used  optatively  or  imperatively,  sec  Abbott,  {  364. 


ACT  V,  sc.  vii.]  MACBETH.  289 

Let  us  be  beaten,  if  we  cannot  fight. 

Macd,     Make  all  our  trumpets  speak ;  give  them  all  breath, 
Those  clamorous  harbingers  of  blood  and  death.      \Exeunt     10 


Scene  VII.    Another  part  of  the  field. 

Alarums,     Enter  Macbeth. 

Macb,     They  have  tied  me  to  a  stake ;  I  cannot  fly, 
But  bear-like  I  must  fight  the  course.     What's  he 
That  was  not  born  of  woman  ?     Such  a  one 
Am  I  to  fear,  or  none. 

Enter  young  Siward. 

Yo,  Siw,     What  is  thy  name  ? 

Macb,  Thou'lt  be  afraid  to  hear  it.         J 

Yo,  Siw,     No ;  though  thou  call'st  thyself  a  hotter  name 
Than  any  is  in  hell. 

Macb,  My  name  's  Macbeth. 

10.     [Exeunt.]  Cap.    Exeunt.  Alar-            Alarums.]   Alarums,  as   of  a  Battle 

ums  continued.  Ff.  join'd.     Skirmishings.  Cap. 

Scene  vii.]  Scena  Septima.  Ff.  Scene             I .    They  Aave]  They've  Pope,  + ,  Dyce 

continued  by  Rowe,  +,  Jen.  ii,  Huds.  ii. 

Another.,..]    Glo.      The  same.            6.     hotter"]  hoter  Fj. 
Another  Part  of  the  Plain.  Cap. 

2.  course]  Steevens.  A  phrase  taken  from  bear-baiting.  So,  Brome,  The  An- 
tipodes ^  1638 :  'Also  you  shall  see  two  ten-dog  courses  at  the  great  bear.* 

Delius.  We  find  the  same  phrase  in  Lear,  III,  vii,  54. 

What's  he]  See  Abbott  (J  254). 

4.  none]  Mrs  Lenox.  Sh.  seems  to  have  committed  a  great  oversight  in  making 
Macbeth,  after  he  found  himself  deceived  in  the  prophecy  relating  to  Bimam  Wood, 
so  absolutely  rely  upon  the  other,  which  he  had  good  reason  to  fear  might  be  equally 
fallacious. 

Knight.  If  this  queen  of  fault-finders  had  known  as  much  of  human  nature  as 
Sh.  knew,  she  would  have  understood  that  one  hope  destroyed  does  not  necessarily 
banish  all  hope ;  that  the  gambler  who  has  lost  thousands  still  believes  that  his  last 
guinea  will  redeem  them ;  and  that  the  last  of  a  long  series  of  perishing  delusions 
is  as  firmly  trusted  as  if  the  great  teacher,  Time,  had  taught  nothing. 

7.  any  is]  For  instances  of  the  omission  of  the  relative  see  Abbott,  J  244. 

Clarendon.  Among  modem  poets.  Browning  is  particularly  fond  of  omitting  the 
relative.     Indeed,  it  is  still  frequently  omitted  by  all  writers  when  a  new  nomina- 
tive is  introduced  to  govern  the  following  verb. 
25  T 


290  MACBETH.  [act  v,  sc.  vii. 

Yo.  Siw,    The  devil  himself  could  not  pronounce  a  title 
More  hateful  to  mine  ear. 

Macb.  No,  nor  more  fearful. 

Yo,  Skv.    Thou  liest,  abhorred  tyrant;  with  my  sword         lo 
rU  prove  the  lie  thou  speak'st. 

\Th^  fighi^  and  ytmng  Siward  is  slain. 

Macb.  Thou  wast  bom  of  woman. — 

But  swords  I  smile  at,  weapons  laugh  to  scorn, 
Brandish'd  by  man  that's  of  a  woman  bom.  \Exit 

Alarums.    Enter  Macduff. 

Macd.    That  way  the  noise  is. — ^Tyrant,  show  thy  face ! 
If  thou  be'st  slain  and  with  no  stroke  of  mine,  1 5 

My  wife  and  children's  ghosts  will  haunt  me  still. 
I  cannot  strike  at  wretched  kems,  whose  arms 
Are  hired  to  bear  their  staves :  either  thou,  Macbeth, 

10.  Thou..,my\  One  line,  Rowe.  Se3rward  slaine.  F,F,  (yong  F,).  Fight, 
abhorred'\  thou  abhorred  FJP^        and  young  Seyward's  slain.  F,F^. 

F^,  Rowe.  18.    either]  Or  Pope,  +. 

1 1 .  [They  6ght...]  Fight,  and  young 

11.  Thou  wast]  Walker  (Crit.,  ii,  202).  Tkou  wert  (sometimes  written  in  the 
old  poets  7%*  wert),  you  were,  I  was,  &c.,  occur  frequently,  hoth  in  Sh.  and  con- 
temporary dramatists,  in  places  where  it  is  clear  they  must  have  been  pronounced  as 
one  syllable,  in  whatever  manner  the  contraction  was  effected. 

12.  swords]  Daniel.   Qy.  *  words.'    Compare  Hen.  V :  III,  ii,  33,  < a* 

breaks  words,  and  keeps  whole  weapons.* 

13.  born]  Steevens.  Sh.  designed  Macbeth  should  appear  invincible,  till  he  en- 
countered the  object  destined  for  his  destruction. 

17.  kerns]  Collier.  This  seems  here  used  with  greater  license  than  usual. 
Dyce  {C/oss.)  Perhaps  here  equivalent  to  *  boors;*   compare  *And  these  rude 

Germaine  hemes  not  yet  subdued.* — The  Tragedie  of  Claudius  Tiberius  Nero,  1607, 
sig.  C  3  verso. 

RusHTON  [Archivf,  n,  Sprachen,  xxxiv).  *Gailowglasses,  equites  triarii  qui  secu- 
ribus  utuntur  acutissimis.  Kernes  sunt  pedites  qui  jaculb  utuntur.' — Coke,  4  Inst., 
358.  [This  excellent  reference  was  kindly  sent  to  me  by  Mr  Rushton,  but  did  not 
come  to  hand  until  after  the  First  Act  was  stereotyped.  See  I,  ii,  13.  Ed.] 

18.  either]  See  I,  iii,  1 11. 

Malone.  I  suspect  a  line  has  been  here  lost,  perhaps :  *  either  thou,  Macbeth, 
Advance  and  bravely  meet  an  injured  foe.  Or  else,*  &c.  [This  emendation  was  not 
repeated  in  the  Variorum  of  182 1.  Ed.] 

Seymour.  If  Macduff's  impetuosity  had  allowed  him  to  be  explicit,  he  would 
have  said :  Either  thou,  Macbeth,  shall  receive  in  thy  body  my  sword,  or  else  I  will 
return  it  unbattered  into  the  scabbard. 

Dalgleish.  It  is  more  likely  that  *  thou  *  is  here  used  as  a  pronoun  of  address 


ACT  V,  sc.  lai.]  MA  CBETH.  29 1 

Or  else  my  sword,  with  an  unbatter'd  edge, 

I  sheathe  again  undeeded.     There  thou  shouldst  be ;  20 

By  this  great  clatter,  one  of  greatest  note 

Seems  bruited. — Let  me  find  him,  fortune ! 

And  more  I  beg  not  \ExU.    Alarums. 

Enter  Malcolm  and  old  Siward. 

Siw.    This  way,  my  lord ;  the  castle's  gently  rendered : 
The  tyrant's  people  on  both  sides  do  fight ;  25 

The  noble  thanes  do  bravely  in  the  war ; 
The  day  almost  itself  professes  yours, 
And  little  is  to  do. 

Mai,  We  have  met  with  foes 

That  strike  beside  us. 

Siw.  Enter,  sir,  the  castle.       \Exeunt.    Alarum. 

19.  unbatter^d^   Rowe.    unbattered       Glo.    Alarms.  Dav.    Alarum.  Roweii, 
FjFjF^,  Dav.     unbatterred  F,.  ct  cct. 

22,23.     Seem5.„And'\  Ff.  One  line,  27.     itself  professes]   professes  itself 

Han.  Cap.  Mai.  Rann,  Ktly.  Johns. 

22.  bruited]    bruited  there  Steev.  28.     We  have]  ffVw  Pope, +,  Dyce 
conj.     to  be  bruited  Ktly,  conj.  ii,  Huds.  ii. 

fnd]  but  find  Steev.  conj.  29.    Alarum.]     Ff.      Alarm.    Dav. 

23.  Alarums.]  Ff,  Cap.  Dyce,  Sta.        Alarums.  Cap.  Dyce,  Sta. 

without  reference  to  its  case,  and  that  we  should  grammatically  construe  it  as  the  ob- 
ject Sh.  has  used  *he*  for  'him*  in  III,  i,  53;  why  not  < thou'  for  'thee'  here, 
especially  as  it  is  considerably  separated  from  its  regimen :  <  either  I  strike  at  thee, 
Macbeth,  or  else,'  &c. 

Clarendon.  This  word  is  not  in  grammatical  construction.    We  must  supply 
some  words  like  *  must  be  my  antagonist.' 

20.  undeeded]  Clarendon.  Not  found  elsewhere,  at  least  not  in  Sh. 

21.  clatter]  Clarendon.  Not  used  elsewhere  by  Sh.    *  Macbeth '  is  particularly 
remarkable  for  the  number  of  these  iira^  Xey6/ieva. 

22.  bruited]  Steevens.  To  report  with  clamor;  to  noise;  from  bruit,  Fr. 

28.  to  do]  See  Abbott  ({  405) ;  and  V,  viii,  64. 

29.  beside  us]  Delius.  This  refers  to  Macbeth's  people  who  had  gone  over  to 
the  enemy. 

Rev.  John  Hunter.  By  our  side. 

Ciarendon.  That  deliberately  miss  us.    Compare  3  Hen.  VI :  II,  i,  129  sqq. 


292  MA  CBETH.  [act  v,  SC.  viii. 

Scene  VIII.    Another  part  of  the  field. 

Enter  Macbeth. 

Macb,     Why  should  I  play  the  Roman  fool,  and  die 
On  mine  own  sword  ?  whiles  I  see  lives,  the  gashes 
Do  better  upon  them. 

Enter  Macdxjfp. 

Macd,  Turn,  hell-hound,  turn ! 

Macb.    Of  all  men  else  I  have  avoided  thee : 
But  get  thee  back ;  my  soul  is  too  much  charged  5 

With  blood  of  thine  already. 

Macd.  I  have  no  words, — 

My  voice  is  in  my  sword,  thou  bloodier  villain 
Than  terms  can  give  thee  out !  [They  fight. 

Macb.  Thou  losest  labour : 

As  easy  mayst  thou  the  intrenchant  air 

Scene  viii.]  Dyce,  Sta.  Glo.  Cam.  +. 

Cla.  Huds.  ii.     Scene  vii.  Pope,  Han.  3.     Enter....]  Ff.    To  him,  enter.... 

Warb.  Johns.     Scene  continued  in  Ff,  Pope,  +.     Re-enter...  Cap. 

et  cet.  5.    thee\  the  F^F^. 

....field.]  Glo plain.  Dyce,  6.     /^«z/^] /'v^  Pope, +. 

Sta.  8.     thee'\  the  F^. 

Enter...]  Ff.     Re-enter...  Cap.  [Tliey  fight.]  Mai.    Fight:  Alar 

2.     whiles']  while  Dav.    whilst  Rowe,  um.  Ff.     Fight.  Cap. 

1.  fool]  Steevens.  Alluding,  perhaps,  to  the  suicide  of  Cato,  which  is  referred 
to  in  Jul.  Cses.,  V,  i,  102. 

Singer  (ed.  2).  Alluding  to  the  high  Roman  fashion  of  self-destruction,  as  in 
Brutus,  Cassius,  Antony,  &c. 

2.  lives]  Dalgleish.  So  long  as  I  see  living  men  opposed  to  me,  the  gashes  do 
better  upon  them  than  upon  me, 

4.  all  men  else]  For  instances  of  the  confusion  of  two  constructions  in  superla- 
tives, see  Abbott,  {  409. 

7,8.  thou  .  .  .  out]  See  III,,  vi,  48. 

9.  intrenchant]  Upton  (p.  310).  The  active  participle  used  passively.  That  is, 
not  suffering  itself  to  be  cut.  As,  *  the  air  invulnerable,'  Ham.,  I,  i,  146,  and  *  wound- 
less  air,'  lb.,  IV,  i,  44. 

Steevens.  Sh.  has  trenchant  in  an  active  sense  in  Tim.,  IV,  iii,  115. 

Nares.  Not  permanently  divisible,  not  retaining  any  mark  of  division.  We  have 
no  other  example  of  it.  Trenchant  means  cutting ;  intrenchant ^  therefore,  ought  to 
be  not  cutting. 

For  instances  of  adjectives  having  both  an  active  and  passive  meaning,  see  I,  iv, 
u  J  I,  vii,  23 ;  and  Abbott,  \  3. 


ACT  V,  sc.  viii.]  MACBETH.  293 

With  thy  keen  sword  impress  as  make  me  bleed  :  10 

Let  fall  thy  blade  on  vulnerable  crests ; 
I  bear  a  charmed  life,  which  must  not  yield 
To  one  of  woman  born. 

Macd,  Despair  thy  charm, 

And  let  the  angel  whom  thou  still  hast  served 
Tell  thee,  Macduff  was  from  his  mother's  womb  15 

Untimely  ripp'd. 

Macb,     Accursed  be  that  tongue  that  tells  me  so. 
For  it  hath  cow'd  my  better  part  of  man  ! 
And  be  these  juggling  fiends  no  more  believed, 
That  palter  with  us  in  a  double  sense ;  20 

That  keep  the  word  of  promise  to  our  ear, 

12.  charmed]  Upton.  In  the  days  of  chivalry,  the  champions'  arms  being  cere- 
moniously blessed,  each  took  an  oath  that  he  used  no  charm fd  weapons.  Macbeth, 
according  to  the  law  of  arms,  or  perhaps  only  in  allusion  to  this  custom,  tells  Mac- 
duff  of  the  security  he  had  in  the  prediction  of  the  spirit. 

must]  See  IV,  iii,  212. 

13.  Despair]  Clarendon.  We  find  'despair'  used  thus  for  'despair  of  in  the 
last  line  of  Ben  Jonson's  commendatory  verses  prefixed  to  F,  of  Sh, 

'  Shin«  forth,  thou  Starre  of  Poets,  and  with  rage. 
Or  influence,  chide,  or  cheere  the  drooping  stage ; 
Which,  since  thy  flight  from  hence,  hath  moum'd  like  night. 
And  despaires  day,  but  for  thy  volumes  light.' 

Abbott  (J  200).  Perhaps  a  Latinism. 

14.  angel]  Clarendon.  Of  course  used  here  in  a  bad  sense.  Compare  2  Hen* 
IV:  I,  ii,  186,  where  the  Chief  Justice  calls  Falstaff  the  Prince's  'ill  angel,'  or  evil 
genius.  Compare  also  Ant.  and  Cleo.,  II,  iii,  21,  where  <  thy  angel '  or  *  demon '  is 
explained  as  <  thy  spirit  which  keeps  thee.' 

Edinburgh  Review  (yuly^  1869).  In  Sh.  the  words  'angel*  and  'genius'  are 
usually  employed  to  denote  the  higher  nature  of  man,  the  rational  guiding  soul,  or 
spirit,  which  in  connection  with  the  mortal  instruments  determines  his  character  and 
fate.  In  Macbeth  this  spirit  is  that  of  insatiable  and  guilty  ambition.  It  is  this 
aspiring  lawless  genius  that  Banquo's  innate  loyalty  of  heart  and  rectitude  of  pur> 
pose  silently  rebuked  (see  III,  i,  55).  This  was  the  angel  whom  he  still  had  served, 
whose  evil  whisperings  had  prepared  him  for  the  dark  suggestions  of  the  weird 
sisters,  and  inclined  him  to  trust  their  fatal  incantations. 

18.  my  better  part  of  man]  Clarendon.  The  better  part  of  my  manhood. 

See  Abbott  (§  423). 

20.  palter]  Craik  (Jul.  Cses.,  II,  i,  126).  To  shufHe,  to  equivocate,  to  act  or 
speak  unsteadily  or  dubiously  with  the  intention  to  deceive. 

Clarendon.  Cotgrave  gives  *  haggle '  and  *  dodge '  as  the  equivalents  of  *  palter,* 
and  under  the  word  «  Harceler  *  we  find  *to  haggle ^  hucke^  dodge ^  or  pauUer  lof$g  in 
the  buying  of  a  commoditie,*  The  derivation  of  the  word  is  uncertain :  *  paltry ' 
comes  from  it. 

25* 


294  MACBETH.  [act  v,  sc.  viii. 

And  break  it  to  our  hope. — I'll  not  fight  with  thee. 

Macd,     Then  yield  thee,  coward, 
And  live  to  be  the  show  and  gaze  o*  the  time : 
We'll  have  thee,  as  our  rarer  monsters  are,  25 

Painted  upon  a  pole,  and  underwrit, 
'  Here  may  you  see  the  tyrant.' 

Macb,  I  will  not  yield. 

To  kiss  the  ground  before  young  Malcolm's  feet. 
And  to  be  baited  with  the  rabble's  curse. 

Though  Birnam  wood  be  come  to  Dunsinane,  30 

And  thou  opposed,  being  of  no  woman  born, 
Yet  I  will  try  the  last :  before  my  body 
I  throw  my  warlike  shield :  lay  on,  Macduff; 
And  damn'd  be  him  that  first  cries  '  Hold,  enough  !' 

\Exeunt^  fighting.     Alarums. 

27.     /  iw7/]  rn  Pope,  Han.  Steev.  Coll.  (MS). 

Var.  Sing.  i.  34.    Exeunt,fighting.  Alarums.]  Pope. 

30.  Bimam\  BymaneY^.  Bymam  Exeunt  fighting.  Alarums.  (Alanns. 
FjF .  Dav.)     Enter   Fighting,   and   Macbeth 

31.  being'\  be  Theob.  Warb.  Johns.        slaine.    Ff,  Dav.    ( and  Macbeth  is 

Coll.  ii  (MS).  slain.  Rowe.)    Exeunt,  fighting.   Cap. 

34.     him'\   he  Pope,  +,  Jen.   Huds. 

22.  Walker  [Crit.,  iii,  259).  Arrange,  rather,  I  think, — «I  will  not  fight  with 
thee.  Macd.  Then  yield  thee,  coward,'  [one  line]  *  with  thee  *  emphatically, 
[Adopted  by  Hudson  (ed.  2).  Ed.] 

Clarendon.  Walker's  arrangement  is  perhaps  right. 

24.  show]  Delius.  Thus  Antony  threatens  Cleopatra  in  Ant.  &  Cleo.,  IV,  xii,  36, 

Clarendon.  Benedick  makes  a  somewhat  similar  jest.  Much  Ado,  I,  i,  267. 

time]  See  I,  v,  61 ;  I,  vii,  81 ;  IV,  iii,  72. 

26.  pole]  Harry  Rowe.  Having  been  a  traveller  in  this  way  myself,  I  shall 
venture  to  amend  this  reading,  meo  periculoy  to  *  cloih,^ 

Daniel.  Qy.  read :  *  We'll  have  thee  painted,  as  our  rarer  monsters  arc,  And  un- 
derwrit upon  a  scroll,'  &c. 

34.  him]  Abbott  (§  208).  Perhaps  let^  or  some  such  word,  was  implied. 

Hold]  See  I,  v,  52. 

Elvvin.  The  natural  physical  boldness  of  Macbeth  breaks  forth  in  the  very  face 
of  despair. 

Clarendon.  The  cry  of  the  heralds,  *  Ho !  ho !'  commanding  the  cessation  of  a 
combat,  is  probably  corrupted  from  *  Hold,  Hold,'  as  *  lo '  from  *  look.' 

Exeunt.]  Jennens.  The  direction  of  the  Ff  supposes  Afacbcth  and  Macduff  to 
re-enter,  and  end  their  duel  on  the  stage.  If  we  allow  this  direction,  we  must 
also  put  in  another ;  and  either  make  the  curtain  fall,  or  exit  Macduff^  and  the  body 
of  Macbeth  carried  off,  before  Malcolm^  &c.,  enter. 

White.  It  is  possible  that  Sh.,  or  the  stage-manager  of  his  company,  did  not  deny 


ACT  V,  sc.  viii.l  MACBETH.  295 

Retreat,     Flourish,     Enter ^  with  drum  and  colours^  MALCOLM,  old  SiWARD,  Ross, 

the  other  Thanes,  and  Soldiers. 

Mai,     I  would  the  friends  we  miss  were  safe  arrived.  35 

Siw,     Some  must  go  off:  and  yet,  by  these  I  see, 
So  great  a  day  as  this  is  cheaply  bought. 

Mai,     Macduff  is  missing,  and  your  noble  son. 

Ross,     Your  son,  my  lord,  has  paid  a  soldier's  debt : 
He  only  lived  but  till  he  was  a  man ;  40 

The  which  no  sooner  had  his  prowess  confirm'd 

35.  Scene  vin.  Pope,  + .  Mai. 

the  other  Thanes,]  Cap.  Thanes,  41.     his  prowess"]  his  prowess    Pope, 

Ff.     Lenox,  Angus,  Cathness,  Menteth,         Theob.  i.     he  well  H.  Rowe. 

the  audience  the  satisfaction  of  seeing  the  usurper  meet  his  doom,  and  that  in  the 
subsequent  *  retreat '  his  body  was  dragged  off  the  stage  for  its  supposed  decapitation. 
See  stage  direction,  line  53. 

Dyce  (ed.  2).  The  stage  directions  given  by  the  Ff  in  this  scene  are  exquisitely 
absurd. 

Clarendon.  The  inconsistency  in  the  stage  directions  of  the  Ff  points  to  some 
variations  in  the  mode  of  concluding  the  play.  In  all  likelihood  Sh.'s  part  in  the 
play  ended  here. 

Ed.  The  following  lines  are  found  in  J.  P.  Kemble's  Acting  Copy,  1794,  and 

were  added  by  Garrick : 

Alarum.     Thty  Fight.    Macbeth/alls, 

Mac.  Tis  done  I  the  scene  of  life  will  quickly  close. 
Ambition's  vain  delusive  dreams  are  fled. 
And  now  I  wake  to  darkness,  guilt  and  horror; 
I  cannot  bear  it  1  let  me  shake  it  off- 
It  will  not  be ;  my  soul  is  clog'd  with  blood — 
I  cannot  rise  1     I  dare  not  ask  for  mercy — 
It  is  too  late,  hell  drags  me  down ;  I  sink, 
I  sink, — my  soul  is  lost  for  ever  1 — Oh  I — Oh  I —        DUs. 

36.  go  off]  Clarendon.  A  singular  euphemism  for  *  die.'  We  have  *  parted'  In 
the  same  sense  in  line  52.     Similarly  to  *take  off'  is  used  for  *to  kill'  in  III,  i,  104. 

40.  only... but]  Clarendon.  For  an  instance  of  this  pleonasm  see  Bacon,  Ad- 
van  cement  of  Learnings  i'>  I7i  2  9  •  *  ^^^  those  whose  conceits  are  seated  in  popular 
opinions,  need  only  but  to  prove  or  dispute.* 

Abbott  (g  130).  The  same  forgetfulness  of  the  original  meaning  of  words  which 
led  to  *  more  better,'  &c.,  led  also  to  the  redundant  use  of  but  in  *  but  only,*  'merely 
<5«/,'  '  but  even,'  &c. 

41.  The  which]  See  III,  i,  16. 

prowess]  Walker  {Fers.,p.  119).  Such  words  2&  jewels  steward,  lower ,  poet, 
&€.,  in  which  a  short  vowel  is  preceded  by  a  long  one  or  a  diphthong, — among  the 
rest,  may  be  particularly  noticed  such  present  participles  as  doing,  going,  dying,  &c.— 
are  frequently  contracted ;  the  participles  almost  always.  Thus  prowess,  -And  so 
Greene,  Alphonsus,  iii,  ed.  Dyce,  vol.  ii,  p.  27, — *  Whose  prowess  alone  has  been  the 
only  cause.'     Butler,  Hudibras,  pt.  I,  canto  i,  873, — *  Which  we  must  manage  at  a 


296  MACBETH.  [act  v,  sc.  viii. 

In  the  unshrinking  station  where  he  fought, 
But  like  a  man  he  died. 

Siw.  Then  he  is  dead  ? 

Ross.     Ky,  and  brought  off  the  field :  your  cause  of  sorrow 
Must  not  be  measured  by  his  worth,  for  then  45 

It  hath  no  end. 

Siw,  Had  he  his  hurts  before  ? 

Ross,     Ay,  on  the  front. 

Siw.  Why  then,  God's  soldier  be  he ! 

Had  I  as  many  sons  as  I  have  hairs, 
I  would  not  wish  them  to  a  fairer  death : 
And  so  his  knell  is  knoll'd. 

Mai,  He's  worth  more  sorrow,  5c 

And  that  I'll  spend  for  him. 

Siw.  He's  worth  no  more : 

They  say  he  parted  well  and  paid  his  score : 
And  so  God  be  with  him !     Here  comes  newer  comfort. 

Re-enter  Macduff,  with  Macbeth's  head. 

Macd,     Hail,  king !  for  so  thou  art :  behold,  where  stands 

43.  he  is\  is  he  Pope,  +.  53.     ...head.]  Ff.    ...head  on  a  pole. 

47.  be  he/]  he!  Anon.  conj.  Mai.  Steev.  Var.  Sing,  i,  Dyce  ii,  Huds. 
53.     And  5o'\  So  Pope,  +.  ^«^Coll.         ii.     ...head  on  a  pike.  Coll.  ii  (MS). 

(MS).  54.     Rowe.     Two  lines,  Ff. 

be  ivith'\  b*  wi"*  Sing,  ii,  Dyce  ii,  [Sticking  the  pike  in  the  ground, 

lluds.  ii.  Coll.  ii  (MS). 

Re-enter...]  Cap.     Enter...  Ff. 

rate  Of  prowess  and  courage  adequate.*  In  canto  ii,  23,  prowess  rhymes  to  loosey 
and  in  canto  iii,  181,  to  foes;  pt.  Ill,  canto  iii,  357,  cows — -prowess. 

Clarendon.  It  is  used  in  two  other  passages  in  Sh.,  in  both  as  a  dissyllable. 

See  II,  iii,  53.  Ed. 

41.  confirmed]  Daniel.  Read  *  proved.*  Or,  *No  sooner  had  his  prowess  this 
confirm'd,* 

44.  cause]  Clarendon.  A  pleonasm  for  sorrow.  *  Course^  is  a  not  improbable 
conjecture. 

48.  sons  .  .  .  hairs]  Abbott  calls  attention  to  the  pun  here,  as  well  as  that  in 
n,  ii,  56,  57. 

49.  wish  them  to]  Clarendon.  We  have  the  same  construction  in  Tam.  of 
Shr.,  I,  ii,  60  and  64. 

death]  See  Holinshed,  Appendix,  p.  371.  Ed. 

53.  God  be  with]  Walker  (  Vers.^  p.  228).  This  form  is  variously  written  in  F, 
and  in  the  old  eds.  of  our  other  dramatists;  sometimes  it  is  God  be  with  you  at  full, 
even  when  the  metre  requires  the  contraction;  at  others,  6'<7f/^*7fVj<',  God  be  wy 
yoUf  Cod  bmy.  Cod  buy^  &c. 


ACT  V,  sc.  viii.]  AfA  CBETH.  297 

The  usurper's  cursed  head :  the  time  is  free  :  55 

I  see  thee  compass'd  with  thy  kingdom's  pearl, 
That  speak  my  salutation  in  their  minds ; 
Whose  voices  I  desire  aloud  with  mine : 
Hail,  King  of  Scotland ! 
AIL  Hail,  King  of  Scotland !  {Flourish. 

56.    pearl^  pearle  F^F^.  Peers  Rowe,  60.     All.  Hail^  All.  Allhail^  Anon.* 

+  ,  White,    pearls  Anon.*  All.  Hail.,, Scotland !'\  All.  King 

59.     Scotland  l'\      Scotland!      hail!  of  Scotland y  hail!  Steev. 
Han. 

53.  Stage  Direction]  M alone.  I  have  added  from  Holinshed  [see  Appendix, 
p.  370.]  to  this  stage  direction:  «on  a  Pole.'  This  explains  'stands'  in  Macduff's 
speech. 

Harry  Rowe.  Military  men  carried  pikes^  but  not  *  poles,'  into  the  field.  This 
emendation  was  suggested  by  my  scene-shifter. 

Steevens.  Our  ancient  players  were  not  even  skilful  enough  to  prevent  absurdity 
in  those  circumstances  which  fell  immediately  under  their  own  management.  No 
bad  specimen  of  their  want  of  common  sense,  on  such  occasions,  may  be  found  in 
Hey  wood's  Golden  Age^  1 61 1:  <  Enter  Sybilla  lying  in  childbed ,  with  her  child 
lying  by  her,'  &c. 

Collier  (Notes,  &c.,  p.  417).  The  (MS)  adds  « on  a  pike — stick  it  in  the  ground,* 
which  shows  the  somewhat  remarkable  manner  in  which  the  spectacle  was  presented 
to  the  audience. 

Collier  (ed.  2).  It  implies  that  Macduff  did  not  carry  the  head  in  his  hand,  and 
shake  it  before  the  spectators,  as  Richard  is  represented  to  have  done  with  the  head 
of  Somerset,  in  3  Hen.  VI :  I,  i,  20. 

56.  pearl]  M alone.  This  means  <  thy  kingdom's  wealth,'  or  rather,  *  ornament.' 
So,  Sylvester,  England *s  Parttassus,  1600:  *  Honour  of  cities,  pearle  of  kingdoms 

all.*     In  Sir  Philip  Sydney's  Ourama^  by  N.  Breton,  1606:   * an  earl.  And 

worthily  then  termed  Albion's /^^r/.*  Florio,  in  a  Sonnet  prefixed  to  his  Ital.  Diet., 
1598,  calls  Lord  Southamptom  *  bright  Pearle  of  Peers.' 

Nares.  Anything  very  valuable,  the  choice  or  best  part ;  from  the  high  estimation 
of  the  real  pearl.     In  the  present  case  it  means  the  chief  nobility. 

Hunter  (ii,  201).  This  is  an  expression  for  which  it  is  not  easy  to  account. 

There  is  as  strange  a  use  of  the  same  word  in  Sylvester's  Du  Bartas  : 

These  parasites  are  even  ^^  pearls  and  rings 
(Pearls,  said  I,  perils)  in  the  ears  of  kings.^p.  554. 

The  notes  upon  the  passage  are  nothing  to  the  purpose.  It  is  possible  that  Sh. 
might  allude  to  this  passage  of  Sylvester. 

White.  Rowe's  change  was  a  very  proper  one,  I  think.  A  man  may  be  called  a 
pearl,  and  many  men  pearls,  par  excellence ;  but  to  call  a  crowd  of  noblemen  the 
pearl  of  a  kingdom  is  an  anomalous  and  ungraceful  use  of  language. 

Keightley.  Pearl  is  here  a  collective  term, — a  singular  with  a  plural  sense.  The 
word  was  often  so  used. 

Clarendon.  It  may  be  used  generically,  as  well  as  to  express  a  single  specimen. 
So  in  Hen.  V :  IV,  i,  279.  Perhaps  in  the  present  passage  'pearl '  is  suggested  by 
the  row  of  pearls  which  usually  encircled  a  crown. 


298  MACBETH.  [act  v,  sc.  viii. 

Mai,     We  shall  not  spend  a  large  expense  of  time  60 

Before  we  reckon  with  your  several  loves, 
And  make  us  even  with  you.     My  thanes  and  kinsmen, 
Henceforth  be  earls,  the  first  that  ever  Scotland 
In  such  an  honour  named.     What's  more  to  do, 
Which  would  be  planted  newly  with  the  time, —  65 

As  calling  home  our  exiled  friends  abroad 
That  fled  the  snares  of  watchful  tyranny, 
Producing  forth  the  cruel  ministers 
Of  this  dead  butcher  and  his  fiend-like  queen, 

62.     My\  om.  Pope,  +. 

60.  expense]  Steevens.  To  spend  an  expense  is  a  phrase  with  which  no  reader 
will  be  satisfied.  We  certainly  owe  it  to  the  mistake  of  a  transcriber,  or  the  negli- 
gence of  a  printer.  Perhaps  extent  was  the  word.  However,  in  Com.  of  Err.,  Ill, 
i,  123 :  *  This  jest  shall  cost  me  some  expense.^ 

Singer  (ed.  2).  It  is  possible  that  Sh.*s  word  was  expanse  for  space^  a  sense  in 
which  it  is  often  used,  and  especially  by  Locke,  who  well  knew  the  proper  force  and 
meaning  of  words.  Or  it  may  have  been  targe  extent^  a  phrase  for  space  used  by 
Charles  Cotton :  *  Life  in  its  large  extent  is  scarce  a  span.* 

Keightley.  With  Singer  I  read  make  for  *  spend.*  [I  have  been  unable  to  find 
this  emendation  of  Singer's,  nor  is  he  credited  with  it  by  the  Cambridge  Edd.  Ed.] 

Clarendon.  There  is  no  reason  to  suspect  any  corruption.  The  verb  governs  a 
cognate  accusative,  as  in  Numbers,  xxiii,  10 :  *  Let  me  die  the  death  of  the  right- 
eous.*    Similarly  in  Rich.  II :  IV,  i,  232 :  *  To  read  a  lecture  of  them.' 

Bailey.  I  propose  *excess.^  Probably  the  word  *  spend  *  occasioned  the  transcriber, 
or  printer,  to  tuni  excess  into  expense.  Since  spend  may  be  the  corrupt  word,  my 
emendation  is  doubtful.  It  has  little,  if  any,  superiority  over  one  which  has  just 
struck  me :  *  We  shall  not  suffer  a  large  expense ^  &c.,  where  suffer ^  as  is  not  uncom- 
mon, is  a  monosyllable. 

61.  loves]  Seti  V,  ii,  3. 

63.  earls]  See  Holinshed,  Appendix,  p.  370. 

64.  to  do]  See  V,  vii,  28. 

65.  would]  See  I,  v,  19,  and  I,  vii,  34. 

66.  As]  Walker  {Crit.y  i,  127).  As,  in  the  sense  of  to  wit.  [On  Hen.  VIII 
IV,  i,  88,  Walker  says :  *  As  is  here  used  not  in  the  sense  o^  for  instance^  but  in  that 
of  namely^  to  wit ;  it  expresses  an  enumeration  of  particulars,  not  a  selection  from 
them  by  way  of  example.  This  is  a  frequent, — perhaps,  indeed,  the  one  exclusive, — 
signification  of  <m,  when  employed  in  this  construction ;  e.  j^.,  3  Hen.  VI  :  V,  vii,  4, 
sqq.  (a  striking  instance).  This  is  the  true  construction  of  as  in  a  number  of  pas- 
sages, where  it  has  been,  or  is  likely  to  be,  mistaken  for  the  modern  usaj;e.'  I  am 
not  quite  sure,  because  of  the  '  what  need'ul  else'  in  line  71,  that  Walker's  construc- 
tion strictly  applies  here,  but  it  is  assuredly  applicable  to  V,  iii,  25,  and  would  have 
been  there  cited  had  not  the  notes  on  the  preceding  lines  been  so  voluminous.  Ed.] 

exiled  friends  abroad]  See  III,  vi,  48. 


ACT  V,  sc.  viii.]  MA  CBETH.  299 

Who,  as  'tis  thought,  by  self  and  violent  hands  70 

Took  off  her  life, — this,  and  what  needful  else 
That  calls  upon  us,  by  the  grace  of  Grace 
We  will  perform  in  measure,  time  and  place : 
So  thanks  to  all  at  once  and  to  each  one. 

Whom  we  invite  to  see  us  crown'd  at  Scone.  75 

[Flourish.    Exeunt 

70.  self  and '\  self-laid  Axkon,^  God  "Warh, 

71.  wAal'\  whafs  Han.  75.     Exeunt.]  Exeunt  omnes.  Ff, +. 

72.  Grace\      heaven     Pope,    Han. 

70.  self]  Clarendon  \_Note  on  *  Infusing  him  with  self  and  vain  conceit,*  Rich. 
II :  III,  ii,  166].  Self  is  used  by  Sh.  as  an  adjective,  as  in  Twelfth  Night,  I,  i,  39: 
'  One  self  king,'  so  that  he  felt  no  awkwardness  in  separating  it  from  the  substantive 
whose  sense  it  modifies,  by  a  second  epithet.     [See  also  Abbott,  {  20.  Ed.] 

71.  72.  what.. .else  That]  Abbott  (J  286).  There  is  here  probably  an  ellipsis: 
* what  needful  else  (there  be)  That,*  &c. 

72.  g^ace  of  Grace]  Theobald.  This  is  an  expression  Sh.  is  fond  of:  <Do 
curse  the  grace  that  with  such  grace  hath  blest  them.* — Two  Gent.,  Ill,  i,  146.  *  The 
greal*st  grace  lending  grace,*  &c. — All's  Well,  II,  i,  163.  In  like  manner  he  loves 
to  redouble  other  words :  *  And  spite  of  spite  needs  must  I  rest  awhile.* — 3  Hen.  VI: 
II,  iii,  5.     *  Now,  for  the  love  of  Love  and  her  soft  hours.* — Ant.  &  Cleo.,  I,  i,  44. 

74.  one]  See  II,  i,  49,  and  III,  iv,  131. 

75.  Scone]  See  II,  iv,  31. 

Johnson.  This  play  is  deservedly  celebrated  for  the  propriety  of  its  fictions,  and 
solemnity,  grandeur,  and  variety  of  its  action ;  but  it  has  no  nice  discrimination  of 
character;  the  events  are  too  great  to  admit  the  influence  of  particular  dispositions, 
and  the  course  of  the  action  necessarily  determines  the  conduct  of  the  agents. 

The  danger  of  ambition  is  well  described ;  and  I  know  not  whether  it  may  not  be 
said,  in  defence  of  some  parts  which  now  seem  improbable,  that,  in  Sh.'s  time,  it 
was  necessary  to  warn  credulity  against  vain  and  delusive  predictions. 

The  passions  are  directed  to  their  true  end.  Lady  Macbeth  is  merely  detested ; 
and  though  the  courage  of  Macbeth  preserves  some  esteem,  yet  every  reader  rejoices 
at  his  fall. 

Steevens.  It  may  be  worth  while  to  remark,  that  Milton,  who  left  behind  him  a 
list  of  no  less  than  CII.  dramatic  subjects,  had  fixed  on  the  story  of  this  play  among 
the  rest.  His  intention  was  to  have  begun  with  the  arrival  of  Malcolm  at  MacdufF*s 
castle.  *  The  matter  of  Duncan  (says  he)  may  be  expressed  by  the  appearing  of  his 
ghost.*  It  should  seem,  from  this  last  memorandum,  that  Milton  disliked  the  licence 
his  predecessor  had  taken  in  comprehending  a  history  of  such  length  within  the 
short  compass  of  a  play,  and  would  have  new-written  the  whole,  on  the  plan  of  the 
ancient  drama.  He  could  not  surely  have  indulged  so  vain  a  hope,  as  that  of  ex- 
celling Sh.  in  the  tragedy  of  Macbeth. 

Campbell.  Enlightened  criticism  and  universal  opinion  have  so  completely  set 
the  seal  of  celebrity  on  this  tragedy,  that  it  will  stand  whilst  our  language  exists  as 
a  monument  of  English  genius.  Nay,  it  will  outlast  the  present  form  of  our  lan- 
guage, and  speak  to  generations  in  parts  of  the  earth  that  are  yet  uninhabited.      No 


300  MA  CBETH.  [act  v,  sc.  viii, 

drama  in  any  national  theatre,  taking  even  that  of  Greece  into  the  account,  has  more 
wonderfully  amalgamated  the  natural  and  supernatural, — or  made  the  substances  of 
truth  more  awful  by  their  superstitious  shadows, — than  has  the  tragedy  of  Macbeth. 
The  progress  of  Macbeth  in  crime  is  an  unparalleled  lecture  in  ethical  anatomy. 
The  heart  of  a  man,  naturally  prone  to  goodness,  is  exposed  so  as  to  teach  tis  clearly 
through  what  avenues  of  that  heart  the  black  drop  of  guilt  found  its  way  to  expel 
the  more  innocent  blood.  A  semblance  of  superstitious  necessity  is  no  doubt  pre- 
served in  the  actions  of  Macbeth ;  and  a  superficial  reader  might  say  that  the  Witches 
not  only  tempted,  but  necessitated,  Macbeth  to  murder  Duncan.  But  this  is  not  the 
case,  for  Sh.  has  contrived  to  give  at  once  the  awful  appearance  of  preternatural  im- 
pulse on  Macbeth*s  mind,  and  yet  visibly  leave  him  a  free  agent,  and  a  voluntary 
sinner.  If  we  could  imagine  Macbeth  conjuring  the  hags  to  re-appear  on  the  eve 
of  his  inevitable  death,  and  accusing  them  of  having  caused  him  to  murder  Duncan, 
the  Witches  might  very  well  say,  *  We  did  not  oblige  you  to  any  such  act,  we  only 
foretold  what  would  have  happened  even  if  you  had  not  murdered  Duncan,  namely, 
that  you  should  be  Scotland's  King.  But  you  were  impatient.  You  did  not  con- 
sider that,  if  the  prediction  was  true,  it  was  no  duty  of  yours  to  bestir  yourself  in 
the  business ;  but  you  had  a  wife,  a  fair  wife,  who  goaded  you  on  to  the  murder.' 
If  the  Witches  had  spoken  thus,  there  would  be  matter  in  the  tragedy  to  bear  them 
out ;  for  Macbeth  absolutely  says  to  himself, — <  If  it  be  thus  decreed,  it  must  be,  and 
there  is  no  necessity  for  me  to  stir  in  the  affair.' 

Hallam  {^Introduction  to  the  Literature  of  Europif  vol.  iii,  p.  310,  5th  ed.,  1855). 
The  majority  of  readers,  I  believe,  assign  to  Macbeth  ....  the  pre-eminence 
among  the  works  of  Sh. ;  many,  however,  would  rather  name  Othello,  and  a  few 
might  prefer  Lear  to  either.  The  great  epic  drama,  as  the  first  may  be  called,  de- 
serves, in  my  own  judgement,  the  post  it  has  attained,  as  being,  in  the  language  of 
Drake,  *  the  greatest  effort  of  our  author's  genius,  the  most  sublime  and  impressive 
drama  which  the  world  has  ever  beheld.' 


APPENDIX 


'-  -• 


^ 


MACBETH, 


TRAGEDY. 


With  all  the 


ALTERATIONS, 

AMENDMENTS, 

ADDITIONS, 

AND 

NEW   SONGS. 


As  it's  now  A6led  at  the  Dukes  Theatre. 


LONDON, 

Printed  for  P.  Cketwtn,  and  are  to  be  Sold 
by  most  Booksellers,  1674. 


# 


The  Argument. 


DUncan,  King  of  the  Scots,  had  hvo  Principal  Men,  whom  he  Imployed  in  all 
Matters  of  Importance^  Macbeth  and  Banquo,  These  tiuo  Traveling  together 
through  a  Forrest ^  were  met  by  three  Fairie  Witches  ( Weirds  the  Scots  call  them) 
whereof  the  first  making  Obeysance  unto  Macbeth,  saluted  him^  Thane  {a  Title  unto 
which  that  oi  Earl  aftenvards  succeeded)  of  Glammis,  the  second  Thane  of  Cowder, 
and  the  third  King  of  Scotland :  This  is  unequal  dealing y  saith  Banquo,  to  give  my 
Friend  all  the  Honours ^  and  none  unto  me :  To  which  one  of  the  Weirds  made  Answer ^ 
That  he  indeed  should  not  be  a  Kingy  but  out  of  his  Loyns  should  come  a  Race  of 
Kings :  that  should  for  ever  Rule  the  Scots.  And  having  thus  saidy  they  all  suddenly 
Vanished,  Vpon  their  Arrival  at  the  Court y  Macbeth  was  immediately  Created  Tliane 
of  Glammis;  and  not  long  after  some  neru  Service  of  his,  requiring  ne7u  Recompencey 
he  was  Honoured  with  Title  of  Thane  of  Cowder<  Seeing  then,  ho'o  happily  the 
Prediction  of  the  three  Weirds  fell  out,  in  the  former  he  Resolved  pot  to  he  wanting  to 
himself  in  fulfilling  the  third ;  and  therefore  first  he  Killed  the  King,  and  after  by 
reason  of  his  Command  among  the  Souldiers  and  Common  PeoplCy^he  Succeeded  in  his 
Throne.  Being  scarce  warm  in  his  Seat,  he  called  to  mind  the  Prediction  given  to 
his  Companion  Banquo :  Whom  hereupon  suspected  as  his  Supplanter,  he  caused  to  be 
Killed,  together  with  his  Posterity :  Flean  one  of  his  Sons,  Fscaped  only,  with  no  small 
difficulty  into  Wales,  Freed  as  he  thought  from  all  fear  of  Banquo  and  his  Issue  ; 
ht  Built  Dunsinan  Castle,  attd  made  it  his  Ordinary  Seat:  And' aftenvards  on  some 
new  Fears,  Consulted  ivith  certain  o(  his  Wizards  about  his  future  Estate :  Was  told 
by  one  of  them,  that  he  should  never  be  Overcome,  till  Birnani  Wood  {being  some  Miles 
distant)  came  to  Dunsinan  Castle;  and  by  another,  that  he  should  ficvcr  be  Slain  by 
any  Man  which  was  Bom  of  a  Woman.  Secure  then  as  he  thought,  from  all  future 
Dangers;  he  omitted  no  kind  of  Libidinous  Cruelty  for  the  space  of  l8  Years ;  for  so 
long  he  Tyrannized  over  Scotland.  But  having  then  made  up  the  Measure  of  his 
Iniquities,  Macduff  the  Governor  of  Fife,  associating  to  himself  some  few  Patriots 
{and  being  assisted  with  Ten  Thousand  English)  equally  hated  by  the  Tyrant,  and 
abhorring  the  Tyranny,  met  in  Birnam  Wood,  taking  every  one  of  them  a  Bough  in 
his  hand  {the  better  to  keep  them  from  discovery)  Marching  early  in  the  Morning 
towards  Dunsinan  Castle,  which  they  took  by  Scalado.  Macbeth  escaping,  was  pursued 
by  Macduff,  w/5<?  having  overtaken  him,  urged  him  to  the  Combat;  to  whom  the  Tyrant, 
half  in  scorn,  returned  this  Answer:  That  he  did  in  Vain  attempt  to  Kill  him,  it  being 
his  Destiny  never  to  be  Slain  by  any  that  7uas  Born  of  Woman.  jViTiU  then  said 
MacdufF,  is  thy  fatal  end  drawing  fast  upon  thee,  for  I  luas  never  Born  of  Woman, 
but  violently  Cut  out  of  my  Mothers  Belly  :  Which  words  so  daunted  the  cruel  7}' rant, 
though  othenvays  a  Valiant  man  and  of  great  Performances,  that  he  ivas  very  easily 
slain  ;  and  Malcolm  Conmer,  the  true  Heir,  Seated  in  his  Throne, 


The  Persons  Names. 


King  of  Scotland, 

Mr. 

Lee. 

Malcolm  his  Son, 
Prince  of  Cumberland 

\Mr. 

Norris, 

Donalbain. 

Mr. 

Cademan, 

Lenox, 

Mr. 

Medbourn, 

Ross, 

Angus, 

Macbeth, 

Mr. 

Batterton. 

Banquo, 

Mr. 

5mith. 

Macduff, 

Mr. 

Harris. 

Monteth, 

Cathnes, 

Seyward  and  his  Son, 

Seyton, 

Doctor. 

Feance  Boy  to  Banquo. 

Porter,  Old  man,  2  MuT' 

derers. 
Macbeth's  Wife. 
Macduff's  Wife 
Ilcr  Son. 

Waiting  Gentlewoman. 
Ghost  of  Banquo. 
Heccatte. 
Three  Wittches. 
Servants  and  Attendants. 


Mrs.  Batterton. 
Mrs.  Long. 


Mr,  5anford. 


304 


ACT,  I.    SCENE,   I. 


Thunder  and  Lightening. 
Enter  three  Witches. 

I  Witch,  "IT  THEN  shall  wc  three  meet  again, 

VV   In  Thunder,  Lightning,  and  in  Rain  ? 

2.  When  the  Hurly-burly's  done. 
When  the  Battle's  lost  and  won. 

3.  And  that  will  be  e*re  set  of  Sun. 

1 .  Where's  the  place  ? 

2.  Upon  the  Heath. 

3.  There  we  resolve  to  meet  Macbeth \A  shriek  like  an  Owl. 

I.  I  come  Gray  Malkin, 

All.  Paddock  calls  \ 
To  us  fair  weather's  foul,  and  foul  is  fair  / 

Come  hover  through  the  foggy,  filthy  Air [Ex.  Jfyift^* 

Enter  Kingt  Malcolm,  Donalbine  and  Lenox,  with  Attendants 

meeting  Seyton  wounded. 

King,  What  aged  man  is  that  /  if  we  may  guess 
His  message  by  his  looks.  He  can  relate  the 
Issue  of  the  Battle ! 

Male.  This  is  the  valiant  Seyton^ 
Who  like  a  good  and  hardy  Souldier  fought 
To  save  my  liberty.     Hail,  Worthy  Friend, 
Inform  the  King  in  what  condition  you 
Did  leave  the  Battle? 

Seyton,  It  was  doubtful ; 
As  two  spent  swimmers,  who  together  cling 
And  choak  their  Art :  the  merciless  Mackdonald 
(Worthy  to  be  a  Rebel,  to  which  end 
The  multiplying  Villanies  of  Nature 
Swarm'd  thick  upon  him)  from  the  western  Isles : 
With  Kernes  and  Gallow-glasses  was  supply'd. 
Whom  Fortune  with  her  smiles  oblig'd  a-while ; 
But  brave  Macbeth  (who  well  deserves  that  name) 
Did  with  his  frowns  put  all  her  smiles  to  flight : 
And  Cut  his  passage  to  the  Rebels  person  .* 

26*  u  30s 


306  APPENDIX. 

Then  having  Conquer'd  him  with  single  force. 
He  6xt  his  Head  npon  our  Battlements. 

Kin^*  O  valiant  Cousin  1    Worthy  Gentlonan  I 

.Sr^AMV.  But  then  this  Day-break  of  our  Victocy 
Sery'd  bat  to  Ug^  us  into  other  Daogen 
That  spring  from  whence  our  hopes  did  seem  to  rise ; 
'  Froduc'd  our  hasard :  for  no  sooner  had 
The  justice  of  your  Cai^,  Sir,  (arm'd  with  valour,) 
Compelled  these  nimble  Kernes  to  trust  their  Heels. 
But  the  Norweyan  Lord,  (having  expected 
This  opportunity)  with  new  supplies 
Began  a  fresh  assault. 

King.  Dismaid  not  this  our  Oenenends,  MMM 
And  Bamboo} 

Seyton.  Yes,  as  sparrows  Eagles,  or  as  hares  do  Lions ; 
As  flames  are  heightened  by  access  of  fuel. 
So  did  their  valours  gather  strength,  by  having 
FVesh  Foes  on  whom  to  exercise  their  Swords : 
Whose  thunder  still  did  drown  the  dying  groans 
Of  those  they  slew,  which  else  had  been  so  great, 
Th*  had  frighted  all  the  rest  into  Retreat. 
My  spirits  faint :  I  would  relate  the  wounds 
Which  their  Swords  made ;  but  my  own  silence  me. 

Xmg,  So  well  thy  wounds  become  thee  as  thy  words : 
Th*  are  full  of  Honour  both :  Go  get  him  Surgeons — - 

[Ex,  G^.  amd  Attendants. 

Enter  Macduff. 
But,  who  comes  tibere  ? 

Male.  Noble  Macduff  \ 

Lenox,  What  haste  looks  through  his  eyes ! 

Donal,  So  should  he  look  who  comes  to  speak  things  strange. 

Macd.  Long  live  the  King ! 

King,  Whence  com'st  thou,  worthy  Thane  ? 

Macd,  From  Fife^  Great  King ;  where  the  Norweyan  Banners 
Darkned  the  Air ;  and  fann*d  our  people  cold : 
Norwey  himself,  with  infinite  supplies, 
(Assisted  by  that  most  disloyal  Thane 
Of  Cawdor)  long  maintain' d  a  dismal  G>nflict, 
Till  brave  Macbeth  oppos*d  his  bloody  rage, 
And  checked  his  haughty  spirits,  after  which 
His  Army  fled :  Thus  shallow  streams  may  flow 
Forward  with  violence  a- while ;  but  when 
They  are  oppos'd,  as  fast  run  back  agen. 
In  brief,  the  Victory  was  ours. 

King,  Great  Happiness ! 

MaUoL  And  now  the  Norwey  King  craves  G>mposition. 
We  would  not  grant  the  burial  of  his  men, 
Until  at  ColgmS'Inch  he  had  disbursed 
Great  heaps  of  Treasure  to  our  Generals  use. 


MACBETH  (D'AVENANT'S  VERSION),  307 

Xing,  No  more  that  Thane  of  Cawdor  shall  deceive 
Our  confidence :  pronounce  his  present  Death ; 
And  with  his  former  Title  greet  Macbeth, 
He  has  deserved  it. 
Macd,  Sir  /  I'll  see  it  done. 

King,  What  he  has  lost,  Noble  Macbeth  has  won Exeunt, 

Thunder  and  Lightening, 
Enter  three  Witches  fiying, 
I  Witch,  Where  hast  thou  been,  Sister  ? 
'  2.  Killing  Swine  I 
3.  Sister;  where  thou? 

1.  A  Sailor's  wife  had  Chestnuts  in  her  lap, 

And  mounchM,  and  mounchM,  and  mounch'd ;  give  me  quoth  I ; 

Anoint  thee.  Witch,  the  rump-fed  Ronyon  cry*d. 

Her  Husband's  to  the  Baltick  gone,  Master  o*  th*  Tyger. 

But  in  a  sieve  I'll  thither  sail. 

And  like  a  Rat  without  a  tail 

I'll  do,  I'll  do,  and  I  wiU  do. 

2.  I'll  give  thee  a  wind. 
I.  Thou  art  kind. 

3.  And  I  another. 

1.  I  my  self  have  all  the  other. 
And  then  from  every  Port  they  blow ; 
From  all  the  points  that  Sea-men  know. 
I  will  drain  him  dry  as  hay ; 

Sleep  shall  neither  night  nor  day 
Hang  upon  his  pent-house  lid ; 
My  charms  shall  his  repose  forbid. 
Weary  sen-nights  nine  times  nine,  ■* 
Shall  he  dwindle,  waste,  and  pine. 
Though  his  Bark  cannot  be  lost. 
Yet  shall  be  Tempest-tost. 
Look  what  I  have. 

2.  Shew  me,  shew  me, — 

I.  Here  I  have  a'  Pilot's  thumb 
Wrack' d,  as  homeward  he  did  come  I  \A  Drum  within, 

3.  A  Drum,  a  Drum : 
Macbeth  does  come. 

1.  The  weyward  Sisters  hand  in  hand, 
Posters  of  the  Sea  and  Land 

Thus  do  go  about,  about 
Thrice  to  thine, 

2.  And  thrice  to  mine ; 

3.  And  thrice  agen  to  make  up  nine 
2.  Peace,  the  Charms  wound  up. 

Enter  Macbeth  and  Banquo  with  Attendants, 
Macb,  Command ;  they  make  a  halt  upon  the  Heath.-— 
So  fail,  and  foul  a  day  I  have  not  seen  / 
Banq.  How  far  is't  now  to  Soris  t  what  are  these 


3o8  APPENDIX. 

So  withered,  and  so  wild  in  their  attire  / 
That  look  not  like  the  Earths  Inhabitants, 
And  yet  are  on't?     Live  you?  or  are  you  things 
Crept  hither  from  the  lower  World  to  fright 
Th'  Inhabitants  of  this  ?    You  seem  to  know  me 
By  laying  all  at  once  your  choppy  fingers 
Upon  your  skinny-lips ;  you  should  be  women, 
And  yet  your  looks  forbid  me  to  interpret 
So  well  of  you. — 

Macb.  Speak,  if  you  can,  what  are  you  ? 

X  Witch,  All  hail,  Macbeth,  Hail  to  thee  Thane  of  Glamis; 

2.  All  hail,  Macbeth,  Hail  to  thee  Thane  of  Cawdor, 

3.  All  hail,  Macbeth,  who  shall  be  King  hereafter  ? 
Bang,  Good  Sir,  what  makes  you  start  ?  and  seem  to  dread 

Events  which  sound  so  fair  ?    I*  th*  name  of  Truth 
Are  you  fantastical  ?  or  that  indeed 
Which  outwardly  you  shew  ?  my  noble  Partner, 
You  greet  with  present  Grace, 
And  strange  prediction 
Of  noble  Fortune,  and  of  Royal  hope ; 
With  which  he  seems  surpriz'd :  To  me  you  speak  not. 
If  you  can  look  into  the  seeds  of  Time, 
And  tell  which  grain  will  grow,  and  which  will  not. 
Speak  then  to  me ;  who  neither  beg  your  favour, 
Nor  fear  your  hate. — 
X.  Hail./ 

2.  Hail/ 

3.  Hail/ 

X .  Lesser  than  Macbeth,  and  greater. 

2.  Not  so  happy,  yet  much  happier. 

3.  Thou  shalt  get  Kings,  thou  shalt  ne'r  be  one. 
So  all  Hail  Macbeth  and  Banquo. — 

I.  Banquo  and  Macbeth,  all  Hail \^Exeunt, 

Macbeth.  Stay/  you  imperfect  Speakers/  tell  me  more; 
By  Shields  death  I  know  I  am  Thane  of  Glamis; 
But  how  of  Cawdor,  whilst  that  Thane  yet  lives  ? 
And,  for  your  promise,  that  I  shall  be  King, 
*Tis  not  within  the  prospect  of  belief, 
No  more  than  to  be  Cawdor:  say  from  whence 
You  have  this  strange  Intelligence :  or  why 
Upon  this  blasted  Heath  you  stop  our  way 
With  such  prophetick  greeting  ?     Speak,  I  charge  you, 

[  Witches  vanish. 
Ha  /  gone  /  .  .  .  . 

Banq,  The  earth  has  Bubbles  like  the  water : 
And  these  are  some  of  them :  how  soon  they  are  vanish'd  / 

Macb,  ,  ,  Th'  are  tum'd  to  Air;  what  seem'd  Corporeal 
Is  melted  into  nothing ;  would  they  had  staid. 

Banq,  ,  ,  Were  such  things  here  as  we  discours'd  of  now  / 


MA  CBETH  (D  'A  VENANT  'S  VERSION).  309 

Or  have  we  tasted  some  infectious  Herb 
That  captivates  our  Reason  ? 

Macb,  Your  Children  shall  be  Kings. 

Bang,  You  shall  be  King. 

Macb,  And  TAane  of  Cawdor  too,  went  it  not  so  ? 

Banq,  Just  to  that  very  tune  /  who's  here  ? 
Enter  Macduff. 

Macd.  Macbeth  the  King  has  happily  received 
The  news  of  your  success :  And  when  he  reads 
Your  pers'nal  venture  in  the  Rebels  fight, 
His  wonder  and  his  praises  then  contend 
Which  shall  exceed  /  when  he  reviews  your  worth, 
He  finds  you  in  the  stout  Norweyan-izx^ ; 
Not  starting  at  the  Images  of  Death 
Made  by  your  self :  each  Messenger  which  came 
Being  loaden  with  the  praises  of  your  Valour ; 
Seem'd  proud  to  speak  your  Glories  to  the  King ; 
Who,  for  an  earnest  of  a  greater  Honour 
Bad  me,  from  him,  to  call  you  Thane  of  Cawdor : 
In  which  Addition,  Hail,  most  Noble  Thane  I 

Banq,  What,  can  the  Devil  speak  true  ? 

Macb,  The  Thane  of  Cawdor  lives  / 
Why  do  you  dress  me  in  his  borrowed  Robes  ? 

Macd.  *Tis  true,  Sir;  He,  who  was  the  Thane,  lives  yet j 
But  under  heavy  judgment  bears  that  life 
Which  he  in  justice  is  condemn'd  to  lose. 
Whether  he  was  combin'd  with  those  of  Norway, 
Or  did  assist  the  Rebel  privately ; 
Or  whether  he  concurr*d  with  both,  to  cause 
His  Country's  danger.  Sir,  I  cannot  tell : 
But,  Treasons  Capital,  confessed,  and  prov'd, 
Have  over-thrown  him. 

Macb,  Glamis  and  Thane  of  Cawdor  \ 
The  greatest  is  behind ;  my  noble  Partner  / 
Do  you  not  hope  your  Children  shall  be  Kings  ?  • 

When  those  who  gave  to  me  the  Thane  of  Cawdor 
PromisM  no  less  to  them. 

Banq,  If  all  be  true, 
You  have  a  Title  to  a  Crown,  as  well 
As  to  the  Thane  of  Cawdor,    It  seems  strange ; 
But  many  times  to  win  us  to  our  harm, 
The  Instruments  of  darkness  tell  us  truths. 
And  tempt  us  with  low  trifles,  that  they  may 
Betray  us  in  the  things  of  high  concern. 

Macb.  Th'  have  told  me  truth  as  to  the  name  of  Cawdor,  {aside. 
That  may  be  prologue  to  the  name  of  King. 
Less  Titles  shou'd  the  greater  still  fore-run. 
The  morning  Star  doth  usher  in  the  Sun. 
This  strange  prediction  in  as  strange  a  manner 


3IO  APPENDIX. 

DeliverM :  neither  can  be  good  nor  ill. 

If  ill ;  *twou'd  give  no  earnest  of  success. 

Beginning  in  a  truth :  I'm  Thane  of  Cawdor \ 

If  good  ?  why  am  I  then  perplext  with  doubt  ? 

My  future  bliss  causes  my  present  fears, 

Fortune,  methinks,  which  rains  down  Honour  on  me, 

Seems  to  rain  bloud  too :  Duncan  does  appear 

Clowded  by  my  increasing  Glories :  but 

These  are  but  dreams. 

Bang,  Look  how  my  Partner's  rap'd  / 

Macb,  If  Chance  will  have  me  King ;  Chance  may  bestow 
A  Crown  without  my  stir. 

Bang,  His  Honours  are  surprizes,  and  resemble 
New  Garments,  which  but  seldom  fit  men  well. 
Unless  by  help  of  use. 

Macb.  Come,  what  come  may ; 
Patience  and  time  run  through  the  roughest  day. 

Bang.  Worthy  Macbeth  /  we  wait  upon  your  leisure. 

Macb.  I  was  reflecting  upon  past  transactions  \ 
"  Worthy  Macduff  \  your  pains  are  registred 
Where  every  day  I  turn  the  leaf  to  read  them. 
Let's  hasten  to  the  King :  we'll  think  upon 
These  accidents  at  more  convenient  time. 
When  w'have  maturely  weigh'd  them,  we'll  impart 
Our  mutual  judgments  to  each  others  breasts. 

Bang,  Let  it  be  so. 

Macb.  Till  then,  enough.     Come  Friends [Exeunt. 

Enter  King^  Lenox,  Malcolme,  Donalbine,  Attendants, 

King,  Is  execution  done  on  Cawdor  yet  ? 
Or  are  they  not  return'd,  who  were  imploy'd 
In  doing  it  ? 

Male.  They  are  not  yet  come  back ; 
But  I  have  spoke  with  one  who  saw  him  die. 
And  did  report  that  very  frankly,  he 
Confess'd  his  T»easons ;  and  implor'd  your  pardon. 
With  signs  of  a  sincere  and  deep  repentance. 
He  told  me,  nothing  in  his  life  became  him 
so  well,  as  did  his  leaving  it.     He  dy'd 
As  one  who  had  been  study' d  in  his  Death, 
Quitting  the  dearest  thing  he  ever  had. 
As  'twere  a  worthless  trifle. 

King,  There's  no  Art 
To  find  the  minds  construction  in  the  face : 
He  was  a  Gentleman  on  whom  I  built 
An  absolute  trust. 

Enter  Macbeth,  Banquo,  and  Macduff. 
O  worthy'st  Cozen  / 
The  sin  of  my  Ingratitude  even  now 
Seem'd  heavy  on  me.     Thou  art  so  far  before. 


MA  CBETH  (D  'A  VENANT  'S  VERSION).  3 1 1 

That  all  the  wings  of  recompence  arc  slow 
To  overtake  thee :  would  thou  hadst  less  deserv'd, 
That  the  proportion  both  of  thanks  and  payment 
Might  have  been  mine :  I*ve  only  left  to  say. 
That  thou  deserv'st  more  than  I  have  to  pay. 

Macb.  The  service  and  the  loyalty  I  owe  you, 
Is  a  sufficient  payment  for  it  self : 
Your  Royal  part  is  to  receive  our  Duties ; 
Which  Duties  are,  Sir,  to  your  Throne  and  State, 
Children  and  Servants ;  and  when  we  expose 
Our  dearest  lives  to  save  your  Interest^ 
We  do  but  what  we  ought. 

King.  Y'are  welcome  hither ; 
I  have  begun  to  plant  thee,  and  will  labour 
Still  to  advance  thy  growth :  And  noble  Banquo^ 
(Who  ha'st  no  less  deserv'd ;  nor  must  partake 
Less  of  our  favour,)  let  me  here  enfold  thee, 
And  hold  thee  to  my  heart. 

Bang.  There  if  I  grow. 
The  harvest  is  your  own. 

King.  My  joys  are  now 
Wanton  in  fulness ;  and  wou'd  hide  themselves 
In  drops  of  sorrow.     Kinsmen,  Sons,  and  Thanes ; 
And  you,  whose  places  are  the  nearest,  know 
We  will  establish  our  estate  upon 
Our  Eldest,  Malcolm,  whom  we  name  hereafter 
The  Prince  of  Cumberland :  nor  must  he  wear 
His  honours  unaccompany'd  by  others. 
But  marks  of  nobleness,  like  Stars  shall  shine 
On  all  deservers.     Now  we'll  hasten  hence 
To  Envemess :  we'll  be  your  guest,  Macbeth, 
And  there  contract  a  greater  debt  than  that 
Which  I  already  owe  you. 

Macb.  That  Honour,  Sir, 
Out-speaks  the  best  expression  of  my  thanks :  » 

I'll  be  my  self  the  Harbinger,  and  bless 
My  wife  with  the  glad  news  of  your  approach. 
I  humbly  take  my  leave.  r  Macbeth  going  out,  stops,  and  speaks 

King,  My  worthy  Cawdor  /  .  .  \  whilst  the  King  talks  with  Banq.  &c. 

Mcub,  The  Prince  of  Cumberland  \  that  is  a  step 
On  which  I  must  fall  down,  or  else  o're-leap ; 
For  in  my  way  it  lies.     Stars !  hide  your  fires, 
Let  no  light  see  my  black  and  deep  desires. 
The  strange  Idea  of  a  bloudy  act 
Does  into  doubt  all  my  resolves  distract. 
My  eye  shall  at  my  hand  connive,  the  Sun 
Himself  should  wink  when  such  a  deed  is  done.  .  .  ,  [Exit, 

King.  True,  Noble  Banquo,  he  is  full  of  worth ; 
And  with  his  Commendations  I  am  fed  .* 


3 1  2  APPENDIX. 

It  is  a  Feast  to  me.     Let's  after  him, 
Whose  care  is  gone  before  to  bid  us  welcome : 
He  is  a  matchless  Kinsman.  .  .  .  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth,  and  Lady  Macduff.     Lady  Macbeth 
having  a  Letter  in  her  hand. 

La,  Macb,  Madam,  I  have  observed  since  you  came  hither, 
You  have  been  still  disconsolate.    Pray  tell  me. 
Are  you  in  perfect  health  ? 

La.  Macd,  Alas !  how  can  I  ? 
My  Lord,  when  Honour  call'd  him  to  the  War, 
Took  with  him  half  of  my  divided  soul. 

Which  lodging  in  his  bosom,  lik'd  so  well 
The  place,  that  *tis  not  yet  returned. 

La,  Macb.  Methinks 
That  should  not  disorder  you :  for,  no  doubt 
The  brave  Macduff  XtiX.  half  his  soul  behind  him. 
To  make  up  the  defect  of  yours. 

La,  Macd,  Alas ! 
The  part  transplanted  from  his  breast  to  mine, 
(As  'twere  by  sympathy)  still  bore  a  share 
In  all  the  hazards  which  the  other  half 
Incurred,  and  fill'd  my  bosom  up  with  fears. 

La,  Macb,  Those  fears,  methinks,  should  cease  now  he  is  safe. 

La.  Macd,  Ah,  Madam,  dangers  which  have  long  prevailed 
Upon  the  fancy ;  even  when  they  are  dead 
Live  in  the  memory  a-while. 

La,  Macb.  Although  his  safety  has  not  power  enough  to  put 
Your  doubts  to  flight,  yet  the  bright  glories  which 
He  gain*d  in  Battel  might  dispel  those  Clowds. 

La.  Macd.  The  world  mistakes  the  glories  gained  in  war, 
Thinking  their  Lustre  true :  alas,  they  are 
But  Comets,  Vapours !  by  some  men  exhaPd 
From  others  bloud,  and  kindl'd  in  the  Region 
Of  popular  applause,  in  which  they  live 
A-while ;  then  vanish  :  and  the  very  breath 
Which  first  inflam'd  them,  blows  them  out  agen. 

La.  Macb.  I  willingly  would  read  this  Letter;  but 
Her  presence  hinders  me ;  I  must  divert  her. 
If  you  are  ill,  repose  may  do  you  good ; 
Y'had  best  retire ;  and  try  if  you  can  sleep. 

L,  Macd,  My  doubtful  thoughts  too  long  have  kept  me  waking, 
Madam  /  I'll  take  your  Counsel.  .  .  .  [Ex.  La.  Macd. 

L.  Macb.  Now  I  have  leisure,  peruse  this  Letter. 
His  last  brought  some  imperfect  news  of  things 
Which  in  the  shape  of  women  greeted  him 
In  a  strange  manner.     This  perhaps  may  give 
More  full  intelligence.  [She  reads. 

Reads.   They  met  me  in  the  day  of  success ;   and  I  have  been  told 


MA CBETH  (D'A VENANT'S  VERSION).  3 1 3 

they  have  more  in  them  than  mortal  JCnowledg,  When  I  desired  to 
question  them  further  \  they  made  themselves  air.  Whilst  I  enter- 
tain^d  my  self  with  the  wonder  of  it,  came  Missives  from  the  King, 
who  calVd  me  Thane  of  Cawdor:  by  which  Title,  these  weyward 
Sisters  had  saluted  me  before,  and  referred  me  to  the  coming  on  of 
time ;  with,  Hail  Xing  that  shall  be.  This  have  I  imparted  to  thee, 
[my  dearest  partner  of  Greatness)  that  thou  might ^st  not  lose  thy 
rights  of  rejoycing,  by  being  ignorant  of  what  is  promised.  Lay  it 
to  thy  heart,  and  farewel, 

Glamis  thou  art,  an^  Cawdor,  and  shalt  be 
What  thou  art  promised :  yet  I  fear  thy  Nature 
Has  too  much  of  the  milk  of  humane  kindness 
To  take  the  nearest  way :  thou  would'st  be  great : 
Thou  do*st  not  want  ambition :  but  the  ill 
Which  should  attend  it  .*  what  thou  highly  covet'st 
Thou  covet'st  holily  /  alas,  thou  art 
Loth  to  play  false ;  and  yet  would'st  wrongly  win  / 
Oh  how  irregular  are  thy  desires  ? 
Thou  willingly,  Great  Glamis,  would'st  enjoy 
The  end  without  the  means  /    Oh  haste  thee  hither. 
That  I  may  pour  my  spirits  in  thy  ear : 
And  chastise  with  the  valour  of  my  tongue 
Thy  too  effeminate  desires  of  that 
Which  supernatural  assistance  seems 
To  Crown  thee  with.     What  may  be  your  news  ? 

Enter  Servant, 

Macb,  Servant,  The  King  comes  hither  to  night. 

La,  Macb,  Th'art  mad  to  say  it : 
Is  not  thy  Master  with  him  ?  were  this  true, 
He  would  give  notice  for  the  preparation. 

Macb,  serv.  So  please  you,  it  is  true :  our  Thane  is  coming ; 
One  of  my  fellows  had  the  speed  of  him ; 
Who,  almost  dead  for  breath,  had  scarcely  more 
Than  would  make  up  his  Message. 

Z.  Macb.  See  him  well  look'd  too :  he  brings  welcome  news. 
There  wou'd  be  musick  in  a  Raven's  voice. 
Which  should  but  croke  the  Entrance  of  the  King 
Under  my  Battlements.    Come  all  you  spirits 
That  wait  on  mortal  thoughts :  unsex  me  here : 
Empty  my  Nature  of  humanity. 
And  fill  it  up  with  cruelty :  make  thick 
My  bloud,  and  stop  all  passage  to  remorse ; 
That  no  relapses  into  mercy  may 
Shake  my  design,  nor  make  it  fall  before 
*Tis  ripen' d  to  effect :  .you  murthering  spirits, 
(Where  ere  in  sightless  substances  you  wait 
On  Natures  mischief)  come,  and  fill  my  breasts 
With  gall  instead  of  milk :  make  haste  dark  night, 

27 


3 1 4  APPENDIX. 

And  hide  me  in  a  smoak  as  black  as  hell ; 
That  my  keen  steel  see  not  the  wound  it  makes  : 
Nor  Heav'n  peep  through  the  Curtains  of  the  dark. 
To  cry,  hold/  hold/ 

Enter  Macbeth. 
Great  Glamis!  worthy  Cawdor! 
Greater  than  both,  by  the  all-Hail  hereafter; 
Thy  Letters  have  tran^)orted  me  beyond 
My  present  posture ;  I  already  feel 
The  future  in  the  instant. 

Alacb,  Dearest  Love, 
Duncan  comes  here  to  night. 

La,  Macb,  When  goes  he  hence  ? 

Macb,  To  morrow,  as  he  purposes. 

La,  Macb.  O  never  / 
Never  may  any  Sun  that  morrow  see. 
Your  face,  my  Tkane^  is  as  a  book,  where  men 
May  read  strange  matters  to  beguile  the  time. 
Be  chearful,  Sir ;  bear  welcome  in  your  eye. 
Your  hand,  your  tongue :  Look  like  the  innocent  flower. 
But  be  the  serpent  under't :  He  that's  coming 
Must  be  provided  for :  And  you  shall  put 
This  nights  great  business  into  my  dispatch ; 
Which  shall  to  all  our  future  nights  and  daies 
Give  soveraign  Command :  we  will  with-draw. 
And  talk  on't  further :  Let  your  looks  be  clear. 
Your  change  of  Countenance  does  betoken  fear.  [Excun/. 

Enter  King,  Malcolme,  Donalbine,  Banquo,  Lenox, 
Macduff,  Attendants. 

King.  This  Castle  has  a  very  pleasant  scat ; 
The  air  does  sweetly  recommend  it  self 
To  our  delighted  senses. 

Bang.  The  Guest  of  Summer, 
The  Temple-haunting  Martin  by  his  choice 
Of  this  place  for  his  Mansion,  seems  to  tell  us, 
That  here  Heavens  breath  smells  pleasantly.     No  window, 
Buttrice,  nor  place  of  vantage ;  but  this  Bird 
Has  made  his  pendant  bed  and  cradle  where 
He  breeds  and  haunts.     I  have  observ'd  the  Air, 
*Tis  delicate. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

King.  See,  see  our  honoured  Hostess, 
By  loving  us,  some  persons  cause  our  trouble ; 
Which  still  we  thank  as  love :  herein  I  teach 
You  how  you  should  bid  us  welcome  for  your  pains, 
And  thank  you  for  your  trouble. 

La.  Macb.  All  our  services 
In  every  point  twice  done,  would  prove  but  poor 
And  single  gratitude,  if  weigh'd  with  these 


MA  CBE  TH  (D  'A  VENANT  'S  VERSION).  3 1 5 

Obliging  honours  which 
Your  Majesty  confers  upon  our  house ; 
For  dignities  of  old  and  later  date 
(Being  too  poor  to  pay)  we  must  be  still 
Your  humble  debtors. 

Macd,  Madam,  we  are  all  joyntly,  to  night,  your  trouble ; 
But  I  am  your  trespasser  upon  another  score. 
My  wife,  I  understand,  has  in  my  absence 
Retir'd  to  you. 

Z.  Macb,  I  must  thank  her :  for  whilst  she  came  to  me 
Seeking  a  Cure  for  her  own  solitude, 
She  brought  a  remedy  to  mine :  her  fears 
For  you,  have  somewhat  iudispos'd  her,  Sir, 
She*s  now  with-drawn,  to  try  if  she  can  sleep  .• 
When  she  shall  wake,  I  doubt  not  but  your  presence 
Will  perfectly  restore  her  health. 

King.  Where's  the  Thane  of  Cawdorl 
We  cours'd  him  at  the  heels,  and  had  a  purpose 
To  be  his  purveyor :  but  he  rides  well. 
And  his  great  love  (sharp  as  his  spur)  has  brought  him 
Hither  before  us.     Fair  and  Noble  Lady, 
We  are  your  Guests  to  night. 

Z.  Macb,  Your  servants 
Should  make  their  Audit  at  your  pleasure,  Sir, 
And  still  cctum  it  as  their  debt. 

King.  Give  me  your  hand. 

Conduct  me  to  Macbeth :  we  love  him  highly. 
And  shall  continue  our  affection  to  him.  \_Exeuntt 

Enter  Macbeth. 

Macb.  If  it  were  well  when  done ;  then  it  were  well 
It  were  done  quickly ;  if  his  Death  might  be 
Without  the  Death  of  nature  in  my  self. 
And  killing  my  own  rest;  it  wou'd  suf&ce; 
But  deeds  of  this  complexion  still  return 
To  plague  the  doer,  and  destroy  his  peace : 
Yet  let  me  think ;  he's  here  in  double  trust. 
First,  as  I  am  his  Kinsman,  and  his  Subject, 
Strong  both  against  the  Deed :  then  as  his  Host, 
Who  should  against  his  murderer  shut  the  door. 
Not  bear  the  sword  myself.     Besides,  this  Duncan 
Has  bom  his  faculties  so  meek,  and  been 
So  clear  in  his  great  Office ;  that  his  Vertues, 
Like  Angels,  plead  against  so  black  a  deed ; 
Vaulting  Ambition !  thou  o're-leap'st  thy  self 
To  fall  upon  another :  now,  what  news  ? 

Enter  L.  Macbeth. 

Z.  Macb.  H'has  almost  supp'd :  why  have  you  lefl  the  chamber? 

Macb.  Has  he  enquired  for  me  ? 

Z.  Macb*  You  know  he  has/ 


3 1 6  APPENDIX. 

Macb.  We  will  proceed  no  further  in  this  business : 
H'has  honoured  me  of  late ;  and  I  have  bought 
Golden  opinions  from  all  sorts  of  people, 
Which  should  be  worn  now  in  their  newest  gloss. 
Not  cast  aside  so  soon. 

Z.  Macb,  Was  the  hope  drunk 
Wherein  you  dress*d  your  self  ?  has  it  slept  since  ? 
And  wakes  it  now  to  look  so  pale  and  fearful 
At  what  it  wished  so  freely  ?     Can  you  fear 
To  be  the  same  in  your  own  act  and  valour, 
As  in  desire  you  are  ?  would  you  enjoy 
What  you  repute  the  Ornament  of  Life, 
And  live  a  Coward  in  your  own  esteem  ? 
You  dare  not  venture  on  the  thing  you  wish : 
But  still  wouM  be  in  tame  expectance  of  it. 

Macb,  I  prithee  peace :  I  dare  do  all  that  may 
Become  a  man ;  he  who  dares  more,  is  none. 

Z.  Macb,  What  Beast  then  made  you  break  this  Enterprise 
To  me  ?  when  you  did  that,  you  were  a  man : 
Nay,  to  be  more  than  what  you  were,  you  would 
Be  so  much  more  the  man.     Nor  time  nor  place 
Did  then  adhere ;  and  yet  you  wish'd  for  both ; 
And  now  th*  have  made  themselves ;  how  you  betray 
Your  Cowardize  ?  I*ve  given  suck,  and  know 
How  tender  Uis  to  love  the  Babe  that  milks  me : 
I  would,  whilst  it  was  smiling  in  my  face, 
Have  pluck*d  my  Nipple  from  his  boneless  gums. 
And  dash*d  the  brains  out,  had  I  so  resolv'd. 
As  you  have  done  for  this. 

Macb.  If  we  should  fail :  -  - 

Z.  Macb.  How,  fail ! — 
Bring  but  your  Courage  to  the  fatal  place, 
And  we'll  not  fail ;  when  Duncan  is  a-sleep, 
(To  which,  the  pains  of  this  dales  journey  will 
Soundly  invite  him)  his  two  Chamberlains 
I  will  with  wine  and  wassel  so  convince; 
That  memory  (the  centry  of  the  brain) 
Shall  be  a  fume ;  and  the  receipt  of  reason, 
A  limbeck  only :  when,  in  swinish  sleep. 
Their  natures  shall  lie  drench'd,  as  in  their  Death, 
What  cannot  you  and  I  perform  upon 
His  spungy  Officers  ?  we'll  make  them  bear 
The  guilt  of  our  black  Deed. 

Macb.  Bring  forth  men-children  only ; 
For  thy  undaunted  temper  should  produce 
Nothing  but  males :  but  yet  when  we  have  mark'd 
Those  of  his  Chamber  (whilst  they  are  a-sleep) 
With  Duncan* s  bloud,  and  us'd  their  very  daggers ; 
I  fear  it  will  not  be,  with  ease,  believ'd 


MA  CBETH  (D  'A  VENANT  'S  VERSION).  3 1  ^ 

That  they  have  don*t. 

Z.  Macb,  Who  dares  believe  it  otherwise. 
As  we  shall  make  our  griefs  and  clamours  loud 
After  his  death  ? 

Macb,  I'm  setl'd,  and  will  stretch  up 
Each  fainting  sinew  to  this  bloudy  act. 
Come,  let's  delude  the  time  with  fairest  show, 
Fain'd  looks  must  hide  what  the  false  heart  does  know. 


ACT,  11.     SCENE,    I. 


Enter  Banquo  and  Fleame. 

Bang,    T  T  OW  goes  the  night,  Boy  ? 

•tJ.     FUame,  I  have  not  h^ard  the  Qock, 
But  the  Moon  is  down. 

Banq,  And  she  goes  down  at  twelve. 

FUa,  I  take*t  'tis  late,  Sir,  \Ex,  Fleam, 

Banq,  An  heavy  summons  lies  like  lead  upon  me ; 
Nature  wou'd  have  me  sleep,  and  yet  I  fain  wou*d  wake : 
Merciful  powers  restrain  me  in  these  cursed  thoughts 
That  thus  disturb  my  rest. 

Enter  Macbeth  and  Servant, 
Who's  there  ?    Macbeth^  a  friend. 

Banq,  What,  Sir,  not  yet  at  rest  ?  the  King's  a-bed ; 
He  has  been  to  night  in  an  unusual  pleasure : 
He  to  your  servants  has  been  bountiful. 
And  with  this  Diamond  he  greets  your  wife 
By  the  obliging  name  of  most  kind  Hostess. 

Macb,  The  King  taking  us  unprepar'd,  restrain'd  our  power 
Of  serving  him ;  which  else  should  have  wrought  more  free. 

Banq,  All's  well. 
I  dream'd  last  night  of  the  three  weyward  Sisters 
To  you  they  have  shewn  some  truth. 

Macb,  I  think  not  of  them ; 
Yet,  when  we  can  intreat  an  hour  or  two. 
We'll  spend  it  in  some  wood  upon  that  business. 

Banq,  At  your  kindest  leisure. 

Macb,  If  when  the  Prophesie  begins  to  look  like  truth 
You  will  adhere  to  me,  it  shall  make  honour  for  you. 

Banq,  So  I  lose  none  in  seeking  to  augment  it,  but  still 
Keeping  my  bosom  free,  and  my  Allegiances  dear, 
I  shall  be  counsell'd. 

Macb,  Good  repose  the  while. 

Banq,  The  like  to  you.  Sir.  \^Ex,  Banquo, 

27  ♦ 


3l8  APPENDIX. 

Macb.  Go  bid  your  Mistress,  when  she  is  undrest, 
To  strike  the  Closet-bell,  and  1*11  go  to  bed. 
Is  this  a  dagger  which  I  see  before  me  ? 
The  hilt  draws  towards  my  hand ;  come,  let  me  grasp  thee : 
I  have  thee  not,  and  yet  I  see  thee  still ; 
Art  thou  not  fatal  Vision,  sensible 
To  feeling  as  to  sight  ?  or,  art  thou  but 
A  dagger  of  the  mind,  a  false  creation 
Proceeding  from  the  brain,  opprest  with  heat. 
My  eyes  are  made  the  fools  of  th'other  senses ; 
Or  else  worth  all  the  rest :  I  see  thee  still. 
And  on  thy  blade  are  stains  of  reeking  bloud. 
It  is  the  bloudy  business  that  thus 
Informs  my  eye-sight ;  now,  to  half  the  world 
Nature  seems  dead,  and  wicked  dreams  infect 
The  health  of  sleep ;  now  witchcraft  celebrates 
Pale  Heccat^s  Offerings ;  now  murder  is 
Alarm'd  by  his  nights  Centinel :  the  wolf. 
Whose  howling  seems  the  watch-word  to  the  dead  .• 
But  whilst  I  talk,  he  lives :  hark,  I  am  summoned ; 
O  Duncan y  hear  it  not,  for  'tis  a  bell 

That  rings  my  Coronation,  an^  thy  Knell.  \^Exit, 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

La  Macb,  That  which  made  them  drunk,  has  made  me  bold ; 
What  has  quenched  them,  hath  given  new  fire  to  me. 
Heark ;  oh,  it  was  the  Owl  that  shriek*d ; 
The  fatal  Bell-man  that  oft  bids  good  night 
To  dying  men,  he  is  about  it ;  the  doors  are  open. 
And  whilst  the  surfeited  Grooms  neglect  their  charges  for  sleep, 
Nature  and  death  are  now  contending  in  them. 

Enter  Macbeth. 

Macb,  Who's  there  ? 

La.  Macb,  Alas,  I  am  afraid  they  are  awak'd, 
And  'tis  not  done;  the  attempt  without  the  deed 
Would  mine  us.     I  laid  the  daggers  ready. 
He  could  not  miss  them ;  and  had  he  not  resembl'd 
My  Father,  as  he  slept,  I  would  have  don't 
My  Husband. 

Macb.  I  have  done  the  deed,  didst  thou  not  hear  a  noise  ? 

La.  Macb.  I  heard  the  Owl  scream,  and  the  Crickets  cry. 
Did  dot  you  speak  ? 

Macb.  When? 

La.  Macb.  Now. 

Macb.  Who  lies  i'th'  Anti-chamber  ? 

La.  Macb,  Donalbain. 

Macb.  This  is  a  dismal  sight. 

La.  Macb.  A  foolish  thought  to  say  a  dismal  sight. 

Macb.  There  is  one  did  laugh  as  he  securely  slept, 
And  one  cry'd  Murder,  that  they  wak'd  each  other. 


MA  CBETH  (D  'A  VENANT  'S  VERSION).  3 1 9 

I  stood  and  heard  them ;  but  they  said  their  Prayers, 
And  then  addrest  themselves  to  sleep  again. 

La,  Macb.  There  are  two  lodg'd  together. 

Macb,  One  cry'd,  Heaven  bless  us,  the  other  said,  Amen : 
As  they  had  seen  me  with  these  Hang-mans  hands, 
Silenc'd  with  fear,  I  cou'd  not  say  Amen 
When  they  did  say,  Heaven  bless  us. 

La.  Macb.  Consider  it  not  so  deeply, 

Macb.  But,  wherefore  could  not  I  pronounce.  Amen  ? 
I  had  most  need  of  blessing,  and  Amen 
Stuck  in  my  throat. 

La.  Macb.  These  deeds  shouM  be  forgot  as  soon  as  done, 
Lest  they  distract  the  doer. 

Macb.  Methoughts  I  heard  a  noise  cry,  sleep  no  more : 
Macbeth  has  murder*d  sleep,  the  innocent  sleep ; 
Sleep,  that  locks  up  the  senses  from  their  care ; 
The  death  of  each  daies  life ;  tir*d  labours  bath ; 
Balm  of  hurt ;  minds  great  natures  second  course ; 
Chief  nourisher  in  life's  feast. 

La,  Macb.  What  do  you  mean  ? 

Macb,  Still  it  cry'd,  sleep  no  more,  to  all  the  house. 
Glamis  hath  murder'd  sleep,  and  therefore  Cawdor 
Shall  sleep  no  more ;  Macbeth  shall  sleep  no  more. 

La.  Macb,  "Why  do  you  dream  thus  ?  go,  get  some  water. 
And  cleanse  this  filthy  witness  from  your  hands. 
Why  did  you  bring  the  daggers  from  the  place  ? 
They  must  be  there,  go  carry  them,  and  stain 
The  sleepy  Grooms  with  bloud. 

Macb,  I'll  go  no  more ; 
I  am  afraid  to  think  what  I  have  done. 
What  then,  with  looking  on  it,  shall  I  do  ?  *  . 

La.  Macb.  Give  me  the  daggers,  the  sleeping  and  the  dead 
Are  but  as  pictures ;  'tis  the  eye  of  childhood 
That  fears  a  painted  Devil :  with  his  bloud 
I'll  stain  tlie  faces  of  the  Grooms;  by  that 

It  will  appear  their  guilt.  \^Ex,  La.  Macbeth 

\_Knock  within. 

Macb.  What  knocking's  that  ? 
How  is't  with  me,  when  every  noise  affrights  me  ? 
What  hands  are  here  !  can  the  Sea  afford 
Water  enough  to  wash  away  the  stains  / 
No,  they  would  sooner  add  a  tincture  to 
The  Sea,  and  turn  the  green  into  a  red. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

La.  Macb,  My  hands  are  of  your  colour;  but  I  scorn 
To  wear  an  heart  so  white.     Heark,  \^Knock. 

I  hear  a  knocking  at  the  Gate :  to  your  Chamber; 
A  little  water  clears  us  of  this  deed. 
Your  fear  has  left  you  unman'd ;  heark,  more  knocking. 


320  APPENDIX. 

Get  on  your  Gown,  lest  occasions  call  us,  < 

And  shews  us  to  be  watchers ;  be  not  lost 

So  poorly  in  your  thoughts.  {^JSxtf, 

Macb,  Disguis'd  in  blood,  I  scarce  can  find  my  way. 
Wake  Duncan  with  this  knocking,  wou*d  thou  could'st.  \_Exit, 

Enter  Lenox  and  Macbeth'j  Servant, 

Lenox,  You  sleep  soundly,  that  so  much  knocking 
Could  not  wake  you. 

Serv,  Labour  by  day  causes  rest  by  night« 

Enter  Macduff. 

Len,  See  the  Noble  Macduff, 
Good  morrow,  my  Lord,  have  you  observ*d 
How  great  a  mist  does  now  possess  the  air ; 
It  makes  me  doubt  whether't  be  day  or  night. 

Macd.  Rising  this  morning  early,  I  went  to  look  out  of  my 
Window,  and  I  cou'd  scarce  see  farther  than  my  breath : 
The  darkness  of  the  night  brought  but  few  objects 
To  our  eyes,  but  too  many  to  our  ears. 
Strange  claps  and  creekings  of  the  doors  were  heard ; 
The  Screech'  Owl  with  his  screams,  seem'd  to  foretell 
Some  deed  more  black  than  night. 

Enter  Macbeth. 

Macd,  Is  the  King  stirring  ? 

Macb,  Not  yet. 

Macd,  He  did  command  me  to  attend  him  early ; 
I  have  almost  slipM  the  hour. 

Macb,  I'll  bring  you  to  him. 

Macd,  I  know  this  is  a  joyful  trouble  to  you. 

Macb,  The  labour  we  delight  in,  gives ; 
That  door  will  bring  you  to  him. 

Macd.  I'll  make  bold  to  call ;  for 'tis  my  limited  service.  \Ex.  Macd. 

Len.  Goes  the  King  hence  to-day  ? 

Macb.  So  he  designs. 

Len.  The  night  has  been  unruly : 
Where  we  lay,  our  chimneys  were  blown  down ; 
And,  as  they  say,  terrible  groanings  were  heard  i'th*  air : 
Strange  screams  of  death,  which  seem'd  to  prophesie 
More  strange  events,  fill'd  divers. 
Some  say  the  Earth  shook. 

Macb.  *Twas  a  rough  night. 

Len.  My  young  remembrance  cannot  recollect  its  fellow. 

Enter  Macduff. 

Afacd,  Oh  horror  /  horror  /  horror ! 
Which  no  heart  can  conceive,  nor  tongue  can  utter. 

Macb.  ( 

Len     \  '^^^^^'s  the  matter  ? 

Macd,  Horror  has  done  its  worst : 
Most  sacrilegious  murder  has  broke  open 
The  Lord's  anointed  Temple,  and  stole  thence 


MA  CBE  TH  (D  'A  VENA  NT 'S  VERSION),  3  2 1 

The  life  o'th'building. 

Macb.  What  is*t  you  say ;  the  life  ? 

Lett.  Meaning  his  Majesty. 

Macd,  Approach  the  Chamber,  and  behold  a  sight 
Enough  to  turn  spectators  into  stone. 
I  cannot  speak,  see,  and  then  speak  your  selves : 
Ring  the  Alarum-bell.     Awake,  awake,  \^Ex,  Macb.  and  Lett, 

Murther,  Treason ;  Banquo,  Malcom,  and  Dona/bain, 
Shake  off  your  downy  sleep,  Death's  counterfeit ; 
And  look  on  Death  it  self;  up,  up,  and  see, 
As  from  your  Graves,  rise  up,  and  walk  like  spirits 
To  countenance  this  horror :  ring  the  bell.  \Bf//  rings. 

Enter  Lady  Macbeth. 

La,  Macb,  What's  the  business,  that  at  this  dead  of  night 
You  alar'm  us  from  our  rest  ? 

Macd,  O,  Madam  / 
'Tis  not  for  you  to  hear  what  I  can  speak : 
The  repetition  in  a  womans  ear 
Would  do  another  murther. 

Enter  Banquo. 
Oh  Banquo,  Banquo,  our  Royal  Master's  murther'd  I 

La.  Macb.  Ah  me !  in  our  house  ? 

Banq.  The  deed's  too  cruel  any  where,  Macduff  \ 
Oh,  that  you  could  but  contradict  your  self, 
And  say  it  is  not  true. 

Enter  Macbeth  and  Lenox. 

Macb,  Had  I  but  dy'd  an  hour  before  this  chance, 
I  had  liv'd  a  blessed  time ;  for,  from  this  instant. 
There's  nothing  in  it  worth  a  good  mans  care ; 
All  is  but  toyes,  Renown  and  Grace  are  dead. 

Enter  Malcolm,  and  Donalbain. 

Donal,  What  is  amiss  ? 

Macb,  You  are,  and  do  not  know*t : 
The  spring,  the  head,  the  fountain  of  your  bloud 
Is  stop'd ;  the  very  source  of  it  is  stop'd. 

Macd,  Your  Royal  Father's  murther'd. 

Male,  Murther'd  /  by  whom  ? 

Len,  Those  of  his  Chamber,  as  it  seem'd,  had  don't ; 
Their  hands  and  faces  were  all  stain' d  with  bloud : 
So  were  their  Daggers,  which  we  found  unwip'd. 
Upon  their  pillows.     Why  was  the  life  of  one, 
So  much  above  the  best  of  men,  entrusted 
To  the  hands  of  two,  so  much  below 
The  worst  of  beasts. 

Macb,  Then  I  repent  me  I  so  rashly  kill'd  e'm. 

Macd,  Why  did  you  so  ? 

Macb,  Who  can  be  prudent  and  amaz'd  together ; 
Loyal  and  neutral  in  a  moment  ?  no  man. 
Th*  expedition  of  my  violent  love 

V 


^22  APPENDIX. 


o 


Out-ran  my  pausing  reason :  I  saw  Duncan^ 
Whose  gaping  wounds  look'd  like  a  breach  in  nature. 
Where  ruine  enter*d  there.     I  saw  the  murtherers 
Steep'd  in  the  colours  of  their  trade;  their  Daggers 
Being  yet  unwipM,  seem'd  to  own  the  deed, 
And  call  for  vengeance ;  who  could  then  refrain. 
That  had  an  heart  to  love ;  and  in  that  heart 
Courage  to  manifest  his  affection. 

La.  Macb.  Oh,  oh,  oh.  [Faints, 

Macd^  Look  to  the  Lady. 

MaL  Why  are  we  silent  now,  that  have  so  large 
An  argument  for  sorrow  ? 

Donal.  What  should  be  spoken  here,  where  our  fate  may  rush 
Suddenly  upon  us,  and  as  if  it  lay 
Hid  in  some  comer ;  make  our  death  succeed 
The  ruine  of  our  Father  e*re  we  are  aware. 

Macd,  I  find  this  place  too  publick  for  true  sorrow  .• 
Let  us  retire,  and  mourn :  but  first 
Guarded  by  Vertue,  I'm  resolv'd  to  find 
The  utmost  of  this  business. 

Banq,  And  I. 

Macb.  And  all. 
Let  all  of  us  take  manly  resolution ; 
And  two  hours  hence  meet  together  in  the  Hall 
To  question  this  most  bloudy  fact. 

Bang,  We  shall  be  ready.  Sir,  [Ex,  all  but  Male.  &*  Donalb, 

Male,  What  will  you  do  ? 
Let's  not  consort  with  them : 
To  shew  an  unfelt-sorrow,  is  an  office 
Which  false  men  do  with  ease. 
I'll  to  England. 

Donal.  To  Ireland  I'm  resolv'd  to  steer  my  course ; 
Our  separated  fortune  may  protect  our  persons 
Where  we  are :  Daggers  lie  hid  under  men's  smiles. 
And  the  nearer  some  men  are  allied  to  our  bloud, 
The  more,  I  fear,  they  seek  to  shed  it. 

Male.  This  murtherous  shaft  that's  shot. 
Hath  not  yet  lighted ;  and  our  safest  way 
Is,  to  avoid  the  aim :  then  let's  to  horse, 

And  use  no  ceremony  in  taking  leave  of  any.  [Exeun/ 

S  C  E  N  E  the  fourth. 
Enter  Lenox  and  Beaton. 

Seaton.  I  can  remember  well, 
Within  the  compass  of  which  time  I've  seen 
Hours  dreadful,  and  things  strange;  but  this  one  night 
Has  made  that  knowledge  void. 

Len.  Thou  seest  the  Heavens,  as  troubled  with  mans  act, 
Threaten'd  this  bloudy  day :  by  th'hour  'tis  day. 
And  yet  dark  night  does  cover  all  the  skie. 


MA  CBETH  (D  'A  VENA  NT'S  VERSION).  323 

As  if  it  had  quite  blotted  out  the  Sun. 

Is't  nights  predominance,  or  the  daies  shame 

Makes  darkness  thus  usurp  the  place  of  light. 

Seat,  'Tis  strange  and  unnatural, 
Even  like  the  deed  that's  done ;  on  Tuesday  last, 
A  Faulcon  towring  in  her  height  of  pride, 
Was  by  a  mousing  CTw/hawk'd  at,  and  kilPd. 

Len.  And  Dtmcan^s  Horses,  which  before  were  tame. 
Did  on  a  sudden  change  their  gentle  natures, 
And  became  wild ;  they  broke  out  of  their  Stables 
As  if  they  would  make  war  with  mankind. 

Seat,  *Tis  said  they  eat  each  other. 

Len,  They  did  so. 
To  th'amazement  of  those  eyes  that  saw  it. 

Enter  Macduff. 
Here  comes  the  good  Macduff  i 
How  goes  the  world.  Sir,  now  ? 

Len.  Is't  known  who  did  this  more  than  bloudy  deed  ? 

Macd.  Those  that  Macbeth  hath  slain,  are  most  suspected. 

Len.  Alas,  what  good  could  they  pretend  ? 

Macd.  It  is  suppos'd  they  were  suborn*  d. 
Malcolm  and  Donalbainy  the  Kings  two  Sons, 
Are  stoln  away  from  Court, 
Which  puts  upon  them  suspition  of  the  deed. 

Len.  Unnatural  still. 
Could  their  ambition  prompt  them  to  destroy 
The  means  of  their  own  life. 

Macd,  You  are  free  to  judge 
Of  their  deportment  as  you  please ;  but  most 
Men  think  e'm  guilty. 

Len,  Then  *tis  most  like  the  Soveraignty  will  fall 
Upon  Macbeth, 

Macd.  He  is  already  nam'd,  and  gone  to  Scone 
To  be  invested. 

Len.  Where's  Duncan's  body  ? 

Macd,  Carried  to  Colmehill^ 
The  sacred  Store-house  of  his  Predecessors. 

Len,  Will  you  to  Sconel 

Macd,  No,  Cousin,  I'll  to  Fy/e; 
My  wife  and  children  frighted  at  the  Alar'm 
Of  this  sad  news,  have  thither  led  the  way. 
And  I'll  follow  them  :  may  the  King  you  go 
To  see  invested,  prove  as  great  and  good 
As  Duncan  was ;  but  I'm  in  doubt  of  it. 

New  Robes  ne're  as  the  old  so  easie  sit.  [Exeunt, 

SCENE\  An  Heath. 
Enter  Lady  Macduff,  Maid,  and  Servant. 

La.  Macd.  Art  sure  this  is  the  place  my  Lord  appointed 
Us  to  meet  him  ? 


324  APPENDIX. 

Serv,  This  is  the  entrance  o*th'  Heath ;  and  here 
He  order' d  me  to  attend  him  with  the  Chariot. 

La.  Macd.  How  fondly  did  my  Lord  conceive  that  we 
Should  shun  the  place  of  danger  by  our  flight 
From  Evemcss  ?    The  darkness  of  the  day 
Makes  the  Heath  seem  the  gloomy  walks  of  death. 
We  are  in  danger  still :  they  who  dare  here 
Trust  Providence,  may  trust  it  any  where. 

Maid.  But  this  place,  Madam,  is  more  free  from  terror ; 
Last  night  methoughts  I  heard  a  dismal  noise 
Of  shrieks  and  groanings  in  the  air. 

La.  Macd.  *Tis  true,  this  is  a  place  of  greater  silence ; 
Not  so  much  troubled  with  the  groans  of  those 
That  die;  nor  with  the  out-cries  of  the  living. 

Maid.  Yes,  I  have  heard  stories,  how  some  men 
Have  in  such  lonely  places  been  affrighted 
With  dreadful  shapes  and  noises.  \ Macduff  hollows. 

La.  Macd.  But  heark,  my  Lord  sure  hollows ; 
*Tis  he ;  answer  him  quickly. 

Serv.  II  lo,  ho,  ho,  ho. 

Enter  Macduff. 

La.  Macd,  Now  I  begin  to  see  him :  are  you  a  foot, 
My  Lord? 

Macd.  Knowing  the  way  to  be  both  short  and  easie. 
And  that  the  Chariot  did  attend  me  here, 
I  have  adventured.     Where  are  our  children  ? 

La.  Macd.  They  are  securely  sleeping  in  the  Chariot. 

First  Song  by  Witches. 

1  Witch.  Speak,  Sister,  speak ;  is  the  deed  done  ? 

2  Witch.  Long  ago,  long  ago  : 
Above  twelve  glasses  since  have  run. 

3  Witch.  Ill  deeds  are  seldom  slow ; 

Nor  single :  following  crimes  on  former  wait. 
The  worst  of  creatures  fastest  propagate. 
Many  more  murders  must  this  one  ensue. 
As  if  in  death  were  propagation  too. 

2  Witch.  He  will. 
I  Witch.  He  shall. 

3  Witch.  He  must  spill  much  more  bloud 
And  become  worse,  to  make  his  Title  good. 

1  VVitch.  Now  let's  dance. 

2  Witch.  Agreed. 

3  Witch.  Agreed. 

4  Witch.  Agreed. 

Chorus.  We  shouM  rejoyce  when  good  Kings  bleed. 
When  cattel  die,  about  we  go. 
What  then,  when  Monarchs  perish,  should  we  do  ? 
Macd.  What  can  this  be  ? 
La.  Macd.  This  is  most  strange :  but  why  seem  you  affraid  ? 


MA  CBETH  (D  'A  VENANT  'S  VERSION).  325 

Can  you  be  capable  of  fears,  who  have 
So  often  caused  it  in  your  enemies  / 

Macd,  It  was  an  hellish  Song :  I  cannot  dread 
Ought  that  is  mortal ;  but  this  is  something  more. 

Second  Song. 
Let's  have  a  dance  upon  the  Heath ; 
We  gain  more  life  by  Duncan^  death. 
Sometimes  like  brinded  Cats  we  shew, 
Having  no  musick  but  our  mew. 
Sometimes  we  dance  in  some  old  mill. 
Upon  the  hopper,  stones,  and  wheel. 
To  some  old  saw,  or  Bardish  Rhime, 
Where  still  the  Mill-clack  does  keep  time. 
Sometimes  about  an  hollow  tree, 
A  round,  a  round,  a  round  dance  we. 
Thither  the  chirping  Cricket  comes. 
And  Beetle,  singing  drowsie  hums. 
Sometimes  we  dance  o're  Fens  and  Furs, 
To  howls  of  wolves,  and  barks  of  curs. 
And  when  with  none  of  those  we  meet, 
We  dance  to  th*  ecchoes  of  our  feet. 
At  the  night- Raven's  dismal  voice. 
Whilst  others  tremble,  we  rejoyce ; 
And  nimbly,  nimbly  dance  we  still 
To  th*  ecchoes  from  an  hollow  HilL 
Macd,  I  am  glad  you  are  not  affraid. 
La,  Macd,  I  would  not  willingly  to  fear  submit  .* 
None  can  fear  ill,  but  those  that  merit  it. 

Macd,  Am  I  made  bold  by  her  ?  how  strong  a  guard 
Is  innocence  ?  if  any  one  would  be 
Reputed  valiant,  let  him  learn  of  you ; 

Vertue  both  courage  is,  and  safety  too.  [A  dance  of  witches. 

Enter  two  Witches, 
Macd,  These  seem  foul  spirits ;  I'll  speak  to  e'm. 
If  you  can  any  thing  by  more  than  nature  know ; 
You  may  in  those  prodigious  times  fore-tell 
Some  ill  we  may  avoid. 

1  VVitch,  Saving  thy  bloud  will  cause  it  to  be  shed ; 

2  VVitch,  He'll  bleed  by  thee,  by  whom  thou  first  hast  bled. 

3  VVitch,  Thy  wife  shall  shunning  danger,  dangers  find. 

And  fatal  be,  to  whom  she  most  is  kind.  \^Ex„  witches. 

La,  Macd,  Why  are  you  alter'd.  Sir  ?  be  not  so  thoughtful  .• 
The  Messengers  of  Darkness  never  spake 
To  men,  but  to  deceive  them. 

Macd,  Their  words  seem  to  fore-tell  some  dire  predictions. 

L,  Macd,  He  that  believes  ill  news  from  such  as  these, 
Deserves  to  find  it  true.     Their  words  are  like 
Their  shape ;  nothing  but  fiction. 
Let's  hasten  to  our  journey. 

28 


,26  APPENDIX. 

Macd,  1*11  take  your  counsel ;  for  to  permit 
Such  thoughts  upon  our  memories  to  dwell, 
Will  make  our  minds  the  Registers  of  Hell.  [Exeunt  omnei. 


ACT,  III.    SCENE,  I. 


Enter  Banquo. 

Bang.  HPHou  hast  it  now,  King,  Cawdor,  Glamis,  all, 

^  As  the  three  Sisters  promised ;  but  I  fear 
Thou  plaid*st  most  foully  for*t :  yet  it  was  said 
It  should  not  stand  in  thy  Posterity : 
But  that  my  self  should  be  the  Root  and  Father 
Of  many  Kings ;  they  told  thee  truth. 
VVhy,  since  their  promise  was  made  good  to  thee, 
May  they  not  be  my  Oracles  as  well. 

Enter  Macbeth,  Lenox,  and  Attendants. 

Macb.  Here's  our  chief  Guest,  if  he  had  been  forgotten, 
It  had  been  want  of  musick  to  our  Feast. 
To  night  we  hold  a  solemn  supper,  Sir; 
And  all  request  your  presence. 

Bang.  Your  Majesty  layes  your  command  on  me. 
To  which  my  duty  is  to  obey. 

Macb.  Ride  you  this  afternoon? 

Bang.  Yes,  Royal  Sir. 

Macb,  We  should  have  else  desir'd  your  good  advice, 
(Which  still  hath  been  both  grave  and  prosperous) 
In  this  daies  Counsel ;  but  we'll  take  to  morrow. 
Is't  far  you  ride  ? 

Bang.  As  far,  Great  Sir,  as  will  take  up  the  time : 
Go  not  my  Horse  the  better, 
I  must  become  a  borrower  of  the  night. 
For  a  dark  hour  or  two. 

Macb.  Fail  not  our  Feast. 

Bang.  My  Lord,  I  shall  not. 

Macb.  We  hear  our  bloudy  Cousins  are  bestow*d 
In  England t  and  in  Ireland  %  not  confessing 
Their  cruel  Parricide ;  filling  their  hearers 
With  strange  invention.     But,  of  that  to  morrow. 
Goes  your  Son  with  you  ? 

Bang.  He  does ;  and  our  time  now  calls  upon  us. 

Macb,  I  wish  your  Horses  swift,  and  sure  of  foot. 

Farewel.  [^jr.  Banguo. 

Let  every  man  be  master  of  his  time; 
Till  seven  at  night,  to  make  society 


MA  CBE  TH  (D  'A  VENA  NT  *S  VERSION).  327 

The  more  welcome ;  we  will  our  selves  withdraw, 

And  be  alone  till  supper.  \^Exiunt  Lords, 

Macduff  departed  frowningly,  perhaps 

He  is  grown  jealous ;  he  and  Banquo  must 

Embrace  the  same  fate. 

Do  those  men  attend  our  pleasure  ? 

Serv,  They  do ;  and  wait  without. 

Macb,  Bring  them  before  us.  \^Ex.  Servant, 

I  am  no  King  till  I  am  safely  so. 
My  fears  stick  deep  in  Banquo's  successors ; 
And  in  his  Royalty  of  Nature  reigns  that 
Which  wou'd  be  fear'd.     He  dares  do  much ; 
And  to  that  dauntless  temper  of  his  mind, 
He  hath  a  wisdom  that  doth  guide  his  valour 
To  act  in  safety.     Under  him 
My  genius  is  rebuk'd :  he  chid  the  Sisters 
When  first  they  put  the  name  of  King  upon  me, 
And  bade  them  speak  to  him.     Then,  Prophet  like. 
They  haiPd  him  Father  to  a  line  of  Kings. 
Upon  my  head  they  plac'd  a  fruitless  Crown, 
And  put  a  barren  Scepter  in  my  hand : 
Thence  to  be  wrested  by  anothers  race ; 
No  son  of  mine  succeeding :  if 't  be  so ; 
For  Banqud'%  Issue,  I  have  stain'd  my  soul 
For  them :  the  gracious  Duncan  I  have  murder'd : 
Rather  than  so,  I  will  attempt  yet  further. 
And  blot  out,  by  their  bloud,  what  e're 
Is  written  of  them  in  the  book  of  Fate. 

Enter  Servant,  and  two  Murtkertrs. 
Wait  you  without,  and  stay  there  till  we  call.  [Ex,  Servant, 

Was  it  not  yesterday  we  spoke  together  ? 

1  Murth,  It  was ;  so  please  your  Highness. 

Macb,  And  have  you  since  considered  what  I  told  you  ? 
How  it  was  Banquo,  who  in  former  times 
Held  you  so  much  in  slavery ; 
Whilst  you  were  guided  to  suspect  my  innocence. 
This  I  made  good  to  you  in  your  last  conference ; 
How  you  were  bom  in  hand ;  how  crost : 
The  Instruments,  who  wrought  with  them. 

2  Mur,  You  made  it  known  to  us. 

Macb.  I  did  so ;  and  now  let  me  reason  with  you : 
Do  you  find  your  patience  so  predominant 
In  your  nature. 

As  tamely  to  remit  those  injuries  ? 
Are  you  so  GospelPd  to  pray  for  this  good  man. 
And  for  his  Issue ;  whose  heavy  hand 
Hath  bow'd  you  to  the  Grave,  and  begger*d 
Yours  for  ever  ? 

I  Mur.  We  are  men,  my  Liege. 


328  APPENDIX. 

Mad,  Ay,  in  the  catalogue  you  go  for  men ; 
As  hounds,  and  grey-hounds,  mungrels,  spaniels,  curs, 
Shoughs,  water-rugs,  and  demi-wolves,  are  all 
CalPd  by  the  name  of  dogs :  the  list  of  which 
Distinguishes  the  swift,  the  slow,  the  subtil, 
The  house-keeper,  the  hunter,  every  one 
According  to  the  gift  which  bounteous  Nature 
Hath  bestowed  on  him ;  and  so  of  men. 
Now,  if  you  have  a  station  in  the  list, 
Nor  i*th*  worst  rank  of  manhood ;  say*t. 
And  I  will  put  that  business  in  your  bosoms. 
Which,  if  perform'd,  will  rid  you  of  your  enemy. 
And  will  endear  you  to  the  love  of  us. 

2  Mur,  I  am  one,  my  Liege, 
Whom  the  vile  blows,  and  malice  of  the  Age 
Hath  so  incensed,  that  I  care  not  what  I  do 
To  spight  the  World. 

1  Mur.  And  I  another, 

So  weary  with  disasters,  and  so  inflicted  by  fortune, 
That  I  would  set  my  life  on  any  chance. 
To  mend  it,  or  to  lose  it. 

Macb,  Both  of  you  know  Banquo  was  your  enemy. 

2  Mur,  True,  my  Lord. 

Macb,  So  is  he  mine ;  and  though  I  could 
With  open  power  take  him  from  my  sight, 
And  bid  my  will  avouch  it :  yet  I  must  not ; 
For  certain  friends  that  are  both  his  and  mine ; 
Whose  loves  I  may  not  hazard ;  would  ill 
Resent  a  publick  process :  and  thence  it  is 
That  I  do  your  assistance  crave,  to  mask 
The  business  from  the  common  eye. 

2  Mur.  We  shall,  my  Lord,  perform  what  you  command  us. 

I  Mur,  Though  our  lives — 

Macb.  Your  spirits  shine  through  you. 
Within  this  hour,  at  most, 
I  will  advise  you  where  to  plant  your  selves ; 
For  it  must  be  done  to  night : 

And  something  from  the  Palace ;  alwaies  remember'd, 
That  you  keep  secrecy  with  the  prescribed  Father, 
FUatiy  his  Son  too,  keeps  him  company ; 
Whose  absence  is  no  less  material  to  me 
Than  that  of  Banqud's :  he  too  must  embrace  the  fate 
Of  that  dark  hour.     Resolve  your  selves  apart. 

both  Mur.  We  are  resolv'd,  my  Liege. 

Macb.  I'll  call  upon  you  streight.  [Ex.  Murtn. 

Now,  Banquo,  if  thy  soul  can  in  her  flight 

Find  Heaven,  thy  happiness  begins  to  night.  [Ex. 

Enter  Macduff",  and  Lady  Macduff". 

Macd.  It  must  be  so.     Great  Duncan's  bloudy  death 


MA  CBETH  (D  'A  VENANT  'S  VERSION).  3  29 

Can  have  no  other  Author  but  Macbeth. 
His  Dagger  now  is  to  a  Scepter  grown ; 
From  Duncan's  Grave  he  has  derived  his  Throne. 

La.  Macd.  Ambition  urg*d  him  to  that  bloudy  deed  : 
May  you  be  never  by  Ambition  led : 
Forbid  it  Heav'n,  that  in  revenge  you  shouM 
Follow  a  Copy  that  is  writ  in  bloud. 

Macd.  From  Duncan^s  Grave,  methinks,  I  hear  a  groan 
That  call's  a  loud  for  justice. 

La.  Macd.  If  the  Throne 
Was  by  Macbeth  ill  gain'd,  Heavens  may, 
Without  your  Sword,  sufficient  vengeance  pay. 
Usurpers  lives  have  but  a  short  extent, 
Nothing  lives  long  in  a  strange  Element. 

Macd.  My  Countreys  dangers  call  for  my  defence 
Against  the  bloudy  Tyrants  violence. 

L.  Macd,  I  am  affraid  you  have  some  other  end. 
Than  meerly  Scotland's  freedom  to  defend. 
You'd  raise  your  self,  whilst  you  wou'd  him  dethrone ; 
And  shake  his  Greatness,  to  confirm  your  own. 
That  purpose  will  appear,  when  rightly  scan*d. 
But  usurpation  at  the  second  hand. 
Good  Sir,  recall  your  thoughts. 

Macd.  What  if  I  shou'd 
Assume  the  Scepter  for  my  Countrey's  good  ? 
Is  that  an  usurpation  ?  can  it  be 
Ambition  to  procure  the  liberty 
Of  this  sad  Realm ;  which  does  by  Treason  bleed  / 
That  which  provokes,  will  justifie  the  deed. 

Lady  Macd.  If  the  Design  should  prosper,  the  Event 
May  make  us  safe,  but  not  you  Innocent : 
For  whilst  to  set  our  fellow  Subjects  free 
From  present  Death,  or  future  Slavery. 
You  wear  a  Crown,  not  by  your  Title  due, 
Defence  in  them,  is  an  Offence  in  you ; 
That  Deed's  unlawful  though  it  cost  no  Blood, 
In  which  you'l  be  at  best  unjustly  Good. 
You,  by  your  Pitty  which  for  us  you  plead. 
Weave  but  Ambition  of  a  finer  thread. 

Afacd.  Ambition  do's  the  height  of  power  affect. 
My  aim  is  not  to  Govern,  but  Protect : 
And  he  is  not  ambitious  that  declares. 
He  nothing  seeks  of  Scepters  but  their  cares. 

Lady  Md,  Can  you  so  patiently  your  self  molest. 
And  lose  your  own,  to  give  your  Countrey  rest  1 
In  Plagues  what  sound  Physician  wou'd  endure 
To  be  infected  for  another's  Cure. 

Macd.  If  by  my  troubles  I  cou'd  yours  release. 
My  Love  wou'd  turn  those  torments  to  my  ease : 
28* 


330  APPENDIX. 

I  shou'd  at  once  be  sick  and  healthy  too, 
Though  Sickly  in  my  self,  yet  Well  in  yoiu 

Lady  Md.  But  then  reflect  upon  the  Danger,  Sr. 
Which  you  by  your  aspiring  wou'd  incur 
From  Fortunes  Pinacle,  you  will  too  late 
Look  down,  when  you  are  giddy  with  your  height : 
Whikt  you  with  Fortune  play  to  win  a  Crown, 
The  Peoples  Stakes  are  greater  than  your  own. 

Macd,  In  hopes  to  have  the  common  Ills  redrest. 
Who  wou'd  not  venture  single  interest. 

Enter  Servant, 

Ser,  My  Lord,  a  Gentleman,  just  now  arriv'd 
From  Court,  has  brought  a  Message  from  the  King : 

Macd,  One  sent  from  him,  can  no  good  Tidings  bring  ? 

Lady  Md,  What  wou'd  the  Tyrant  have  ? 

Macd,  Go,  I  will  hear 
The  News,  though  it  a  dismal  Accent  bear ; 
Those  who  expect  and  do  not  fear  their  Doom, 

May  hear  a  Message  though  from  Hell  it  come.  [Exeunt, 

Enter  MacbetJC^  Lady  and  Servant, 

Lady  Mb,  Is  Banquo  gone  from  Court  ? 

Ser,  Yes  Madam,  but  returns  again  to  night. 

Lady  Md,  Say  to  the  King,  I  wou'd  attend  his  leisure 
For  a  few  words.  [Exit  Ser, 

Where  our  desire  is  got  without  content, 
Alass,  it  is  not  Gain,  but  punishment ! 
Tis  safer  to  be  that  which  we  destroy. 
Then  by  Destruction  live  in  doubtful  joy. 

Enter  Macbeth. 
How  now  my  Lord,  why  do  you  keep  alone  ? 
Making  the  worst  of  Fancy  your  Companions, 
Conversing  with  those  thoughts  which  shou'd  ha*  dy'd 
With  those  they  think  on  :  things  without  redress 
Shou'd  be  without  regard :  what's  done,  is  done. 

Macb,  Alas,  we  have  but  scorch'd  the  Snake,  not  kill'd  it, 
She'l  close  and  be  her  self,  whilst  our  poor  malice 
Remains  in  danger  of  her  former  Sting. 
But  let  the  frame  of  all  things  be  disjoynt 
E're  we  will  eat  our  bread  in  fear;  and  sleep 
In  the  affliction  of  those  horrid  Dreams 
That  shake  us  mightily !     Better  be  with  him 
Whom  we  to  gain  the  Crown,  have  sent  to  peace , 
Then  on  the  torture  of  the  Mind  to  lye 
In  restless  Agony.     Duncan  is  dead ; 
He,  after  life's  short  feavor,  now  sleeps;  Well.* 
Treason  has  done  it's  worst ;  nor  Steel,  nor  Poyson^ 
No  Ferreign  force,  nor  yet  Domestick  Malice 
Can  touch  him  further. 


MA CBETH  (D  'A  VENANT'S  VERSION).  33 1 

Lady  M^.  Come  on,  smooth  your  rough  brow : 
Be  free  and  merry  with  your  guest  to  night. 

^acb,  I  shall,  and  so  I  pray  be  you  but  stilly 
Remember  to  apply  your  self  to  Banquo : 
Present  him  kindness  with  your  Eye  and  Tongue, 
In  how  unsafe  a  ix>sture  are  our  honors 
That  we  must  have  recourse  to  flattery, 
And  make  our  Faces  Vizors  to  our  hearts. 

Lady  M^.  You  must  leave  this. 

yiacb.  How  full  of  Scorpions  is  my  mind  ?     Dear  Wife 
Thou  know'st  that  Banquo  and  his  FUan  lives. 

La.  yib.  But  they  are  not  Immortal,  there's  comfort  yet  in  that. 

yiacb.  Be  merry  then,  for  e're  the  Bat  has  flown 
His  Cloyster'd  flight;  e're  to  black  Heccate's  Summons, 
The  sharp  brow'd  Beetle  with  his  drowsie  hums. 
Has  rung  night's  second  Peal : 
There  shall  bee  done  a  deed  of  dreadful  Note, 

Lady  Ub,  What  is't  ? 

Macb,  Be  innocent  of  knowing  it,  my  Dear, 
Till  thou  applaud  the  deed,  come  dismal  Night 
Close  up  the  Eye  of  the  quick  sighted  Day 
With  thy  invisible  and  bloody  hand. 
The  Crow  makes  wing  to  the  thick  shady  Grove, 
Good  things  of  day  grow  dark  and  overcast, 
Whilst  Night's  black  Agent's  to  their  Preys  make  hast. 
Thou  wonder'st  at  my  Language,  wonder  still. 

Things  ill  begun,  strengthen  themselves  by  ill.  [^Exgun/, 

Enter  three  Viurtherers, 

1.  M^r.  The  time  is  almost  come. 

The  West  yet  glimmers  with  some  streaks  of  day. 
Now  the  benighted  Traveller  spurs  on. 
To  gain  the  timely  Inn. 

2.  M»r.  Hark,  I  hear  Horses,  and  saw  some  body  alight 
At  the  Park  gate. 

3.  M«r.  Then  tis  he;  the  rest 

That  are  expected  are  i'th'  Court  already. 

I.  Mi#r.  His  Horses  go  about  almost  a  Mile, 
And  men  from  hence  to  th'  Pallace  make  it  their  osual  walk.      \^Exe. 

Enter  Banquo  and  Flean. 

Banquot  It  will  be  Rain  to  night. 

Flean,  We  must  make  hast ; 

Banq,  Our  hast  concerns  us  more  then  being  wet. 
The  King  expects  me  at  his  feast  to  night. 
To  which  he  did  invite  me  with  a  kindness. 

Greater  then  he  was  wont  to  express.  [Exeunt, 

Re-enter  Murtherers  with  drattm  Swards, 

1.  Mtfr.  Banquo,  thou  little  think'st  what  bloody  feast 
^s  now  preparing  for  thee. 

2.  M»r.  Nor  to  what  shades  the  darkness  of  this  night. 


332  APPENDIX. 

Shall  lead  thy  wandring  spirit.  [^Exeunt  after  Banquo. 

\Clas5ing  of  Swords  is  heard  from  within. 
Re-enter  Y\t:axi  pursu^ d  by  one  of  the  Murtherers. 

Flean,  Murther,  help,  help,  my  Father's  kilPd.         \^Exe,  running. 
SCENE  opens  ^  a  Banquet  prepared. 
Enter  Macbeth,  Lady  Macbeth,  Seaton,  Lenox,  Lords^  Attendants, 

VLacb,  You  know  your  own  Degrees,  sit  down. 

Seat,  Thanks  to  your  Majesty. 

Vieub.  Our  Self  will  keep  you  company, 
And  Play  the  humble  Host  to  entertain  you : 
Our  Lady  keeps  her  State ;  but  you  shall  have  her  welcome  too. 

Lady  Mb,  Pronounce  it  for  me  Sir,  to  all  our  Friends. 

Enter  first  Murtherer, 

Macb,  Both  sides  are  even ;  be  free  in  Mirth,  anon 
Wee'l  drink  a  measure  about  the  Table. 
There's  blood  upon  thy  face. 

Mur,  Tis  Banquo^  then. 

Macb,  Is  he  dispatched  ? 

M«r.  My  Lord,  his  Throat  is  cut  .•  that  I  did  for  him. 

'^acb.  Thou  art  the  best  of  Cut-throats ; 
Yet  he  is  good  that  did  the  like  for  Flean, 

M«r.  Most  Royal  Sir  he  scap'd. 

Viacb,  Then  comes  my  fit  again,  I  had  else  been  Perfect, 
Firm  as  a  Pillar  founded  on  a  Rock ! 
As  unconfin'd  as  the  free  spreading  Air. 
But  now  I'm  check'd  with  sawcy  Doubts  and  Fears. 
But  Banquo's  safe  ? 

yiur.  Safe  in  a  Ditch  he  lies, 
With  twenty  gaping  wounds  on  his  head, 
The  least  of  which  was  Mortal. 

l^acb.  There  the  ground  Serpent  lies ;  the  worm  that's  fled 
Hath  Nature,  that  in  time  will  Venom  breed. 
Though  at  present  it  wants  a  Sting,  to  morrow. 
To  morrow  you  shall  hear  further.  [Exit.  M//r. 

Lady  Mb.  My  Royal  Lord,  you  spoil  the  Feast, 
The  Sauce  to  Meat  is  chearfulness. 

Enter  the  Ghost  of  Banquo  and  sits  in  Macbeth's  place. 

Macb.  Let  good  digestion  wait  on  Appetite, 
And  Health  on  both. 

Len.  May  it  please  your  Highness  to  sit. 

Macb.  Had  we  but  here  our  Countrys  honor ; 
Were  the  grac'd  person  of  our  Banquo  present, 
Whom  we  may  justly  challenge  for  unkindness. 

Seat,  His  absence  Sir, 
Lays  blame  upon  his  promise ;  please  your  Highness 
To  grace  us  with  your  Company  ? 

Macb.  Yes,  I'le  sit  down.     The  Table's  ful' 

Len,  Here  is  a  place  reserv'd  Sir : 

Macb,  Where  Sir  ? 


MACBETH  (D'AVENANT'S  VERSION).  333 

Len,  Here.     What  is't  that  moves  your  Highness  ? 

Mar^.  Which  of  you  have  done  this? 

Lordst  Done  what  ? 

'M.acb.  Thou  can'st  not  say  I  did  it ;  never  shake 
Thy  goary  Locks  at  me. 

Seat.  Gentlemen  rise,  his  Highness  is  not  well. 

Lady  Mb,  Sit  worthy  Friends,  my  Lord  is  often  thus. 
And  hath  been  from  his  youth :  pray  keep  your  Seats, 
The  fit  is  ever  sudden,  if  you  take  notice  of  it. 
You  shall  offend  him,  and  provoke  his  passion 
In  a  moment  he4  be  well  again. 
Are  you  a  Man  ? 

^iacb.  Ay,  and  a  bold  one ;  that  dare  look  on  that 
Which  wou'd  distract  the  Devil 

Lady  Mb.  O  proper  stuff : 
This  is  the  very  painting  of  your  fear: 
This  is  the  Air-drawn  Dagger,  which  you  said 
Led  you  to  Duncan,     O  these  Fits  and  Starts, 
(Impostors  to  true  fear)  wou'd  well  become 
A  womans  story,  authoriz'd  by  her  Grandam, 
Why  do  you  stare  thus  ?  when  all's  done 
You  look  but  on  a  Chair. 

Macb.  Prethee  see  there,  how  say  you  now 
Why,  what  care  I,  if  thou  can'st  nod ;  speak  too. 
If  Charnel-houses  and  our  Graves  must  send 
Those  that  we  bury,  back ;  our  Monuments 
Shall  be  the  maws  of  Kites. 

Lady  Mb.  What  quite  unman'd  in  folly  ?  [/>4^  GAosf  descends, 

l/lacb.  If  I  stand  here,  I  saw  it : 

Lady  Mb.  Fye,  for  shame. 

^acb.  Tis  not  the  first  of  Murders ;  blood  was  shed 
E're  humane  Law  decreed  it  for  a  sin. 
Ay,  and  since  Murthers  too  have  been  committed 
Too  terrible  for  the  Ear.     The  times  has  been. 
That  when  the  brains  were  out,  the  man  wou'd  dye ; 
And  there  lye  still ;  but  now  they  rise  again 
And  thrust  us  from  our  seats. 

Lady  M^.  Sir,  your  noble  Friends  do  lack  you. 

Viacb.  Wonder  not  at  me  my  most  worthy  Friends, 
I  have  a  strange  Infirmity ;  tis  nothing 
To  those  that  know  me.    Give  me  some  Wine, 
Here's  to  the  general  Joy  of  all  the  Table. 
And  to  our  dear  friend  Banquo,  whom  we  miss, 
Wou'd  he  were  here :  to  all,  and  him,  we  drink. 

Lards  ^  Our  Duties  are  to  pledge  it.  \the  Ghost  of^TXit^,  rises  at  his  feet, 

Macb.  Let  the  Earth  hide  thee :  thy  blood  is  cold. 
Thou  hast  no  use  now  of  thy  glaring  Eyes. 

Lady  'M.b.  Think  of  this  good  my  Lords,  but  as  a  thing 
Of  Custom :  tis  no  other. 


534  APPENDIX. 

Only  it  spoils  the  pleasure  of  the  time. 

y[.acb.  What  Man  can  dare,  I  dare : 
Approach  thou  like  the  rugged  Russian  Bear, 
The  Armd  Rhinoceros^  or  the  Hircanian  Tigre  : 
Take  any  shape  but  that ;  and  my  firm  Nerves 
Shall  never  tremble ;  Or  revive  a  while, 
And  dare  me  to  the  Desart  with  thy  Sword, 
If  any  Sinew  shrink,  proclaim  me  then 

The  Baby  of  a  Girl.     Hence  horrible  shadow.  Ex»  Ghost, 

So,  now  I  am  a  man  again :  pray  you  sit  still. 

Lady  M/^.  You  have  disturb'd  the  Mirth ; 
Broke  the  glad  Meeting  with  your  wild  disorder. 

y^acb.  Can  such  things  be  without  Astonishment. 
You  make  me  strange, 
Even  to  the  disposition  that  I  owe. 
When  now  I  think  you  can  behold  such  sights. 
And  keep  the  Natural  colour  of  your  Qieeks, 
Whilst  mine  grew  pale  with  fear. 

Seat,  What  sights  ? 

Lady  Mb,  I  pray  you  speak  not,  he*l  grow  worse  and  worse ; 
Questions  enrages  him,   at  once  good  night : 
Stand  not  upon  the  Order  of  your  going. 

Len,  Good  night,  and  better  health  attend  his  Majesty. 

Lady  M^.  A  kind  good  night  to  all.  [Exeunt  Lords, 

"M-aeb,  It  will  have  Blood  they  say.     Blood  will  have  blood. 
Stones  have  been  known  to  move,  and  Trees  to  speak. 
Augures  well  read  in  Languages  of  Birds 
By  ^agpyeSf  Rooks ^  and  Dawes,  have  reveal' d 
The  secret  Murther.     How  goes  the  night  ? 

Lady  M^.  Almost  at  odds  with  morning,  which  is  which. 

yiacb.  Why  did  ^iacduffe  after  a  solemn  Invitation, 
Deny  his  presence  at  our  Feast  ? 

Lady  M^.  Did  you  send  to  him  Sir? 

'iilacb.  I  did;  But  I'le  send  again, 
There's  not  one  great  Thane  in  all  Scot/and, 
But  in  his  house  I  keep  a  Servant, 
He  and  Banquo  must  embrace  the  same  fate. 
I  will  to  morrow  to  the  Weyward  Sisters, 
They  shall  tell  me  more ;  for  now  I  am  bent  to  know 
By  the  worst  means,  the  worst  that  can  befall  me : 
All  Causes  shall  give  way ;  I  am  in  Blood 
Stept  in  so  far,  that  should  I  wade  no  more. 
Returning  were  as  bad,  as  to  go  o're. 

Lady  Mb.  You  lack  the  season  of  all  Natures,  sleep. 

]Aacb.  Well  I'le  in 
And  rest ;  if  sleeping  I  repose  can  have. 

When  the  Dead  rise  and  want  it  in  the  Grave.  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Macduffe  and  'Lady  Macduffe. 

"Lady  M^/.  Are  you  resolv'd  then  to  be  gone  ? 


MA  CBE  TH  (D  'A  VENA  NT 'S  VERSION).  335 

Macd,  I  am : 
I  know  my  Answer  cannot  but  inflame 
The  Tyrants  fury  to  pronounce  my  death, 
My  life  will  soon  be  blasted  by  his  breath. 

Zatfy  M</.  But  why  so  far  as  England  must  you  fly  ? 

Itiacd.  The  farthest  part  of  Scotland  is  too  nigh. 

Lady  Md.  Can  you  leave  me,  your  Daughter  and  young  Son, 
To  perish  by  that  Tempest  which  you  shun. 
When  Birds  of  stronger  Wing  are  fled  away, 
The  Ravenous  A't/e  do^s  on  the  weaker  Prey. 

Macd.  He  will  not  injure  you,  he  cannot  be 
Possest  with  such  unmanly  cruelty : 
You  will  your  safety  to  your  weakness  owe 
As  Grass  escapes  the  Syth  by  being  low. 
Together  we  shall  be  too  slow  to  fly  : 
Single,  we  may  outride  the  Enemy. 
I'le  from  the  English  King  such  Succours  crave. 
As  shall  revenge  the  Dead,  and  Living  save. 
My  greatest  misery  is  to  remove. 
With  all  the  wings  of  haste  from  what  I  love. 

Lady  Md.  If  to  be  gone  seems  misery  to  you. 
Good  Sir,  let  us  be  miserable  too. 

Macd.  Your  Sex  which  here  is  your  security, 
Will  by  the  toyls  of  flight  your  Danger  be.  [Enter  Messenger, 

What  fatal  News  do's  bring  thee  out  of  breath  ? 

Mess.  Sir,  Banquo's  kill'd. 

Macd.  Then  I  am  wam'd  of  Death. 
Farewell ;  our  safety,  Us,  a  while  must  sever : 

Lady  Md,  Fly,  fly,  or  we  may  bid  farewell  for  ever. 

Macd.  Flying  from  Death,  I  am  to  Life  unkind. 
For  leaving  you,  I  leave  my  Life  behind.  \^Exit, 

'Lady  Md.  Oh  my  dear  Lord,  I  find  now  thou  art  gone, 
I  am  more  Valiant  when  unsafe  alone. 
My  heart  feels  man-hood,  it  does  Death  despise, 
Yet  I  am  still  a  Woman  in  my  eyes. 
And  of  my  Tears  thy  absence  is  the  cause. 

So  falls  the  Dew  when  the  bright  Sun  withdraws.  Exeunt, 

Enter  Lenox  and  Seaton. 

Len.  My  former  speeches  have  but  hit  your  thoughts 
Which  can  interpret  further;  Only  I  say 
Things  have  been  strangely  carry*d. 
Duncan  was  pitti'd,  but  he  first  was  dead. 
And  the  right  Valiant  Banquo  walk'd  too  late* 
Men  must  not  walk  so  late :  who  can  want  Sence 
To  know  how  Monstrous  it  was  in  Nature, 
For  Malcolme  and  Donalbain^  to  kill 
Their  Royal  Father ;  horrid  Fact !  how  did 
It  grieve  Macbeth^  did  he  not  straight 
In  Pious  rage  the  two  Delinquents  kill, 


336  APPENDIX. 

That  were  the  slaves  of  Drunkenness  and  Sleep. 
Was  not  that  Nobly  done  ? 

Seai,  Ay,  and  wisely  too : 
For  'twoa'd  have  anger'd  any  Loyal  heart 
to  hear  the  men  deny  it 

Len,  So  that  I  say  he  has  bom  all  things  well : 
And  I  do  think  that  had  he  Jhmcmn't  Sons 
Under  his  power  (as  may  please  Heaven  he  shall  not) 
They  shott'd  find  what  it  were  to  kill  a  Father. 
So  shottM  PUam :  bat  peace;  I  hear  Macduffi 
Deny'd  his  presence  at  the  Feast:  For  which 
He  lives  in  disgrace.    Sir,  can  you  tell 
Where  he  bestows  himself? 

Seat.  I  hear  that  iMii^M/ lives  iW^Mti^i  Court, 
And  is  received  of  the  most  Pious  Edward^ 
V^th  such  Grace,  that  the  Malevolences  of  Foitmie 
Takes  nothing  from  his  high  Respect;  thither 
Viaeduff  is  gone  to  beg  the  Holy  King's 
Kind  aid,  to  wake  Northumhirkmd 
And  Warlike  Seyward,  and  by  the  help  of  these^ 
To  finish  what  they  have  so  well  begun. 
This  report 

Do's  so  Exasperste  the  King,  that  he 
Prepares  for  some  attempt  of  War. 

Lin.  Seai  ht  io  Macthiffe  ^ 

Seat.  He  did,  his  absolute  Conunand. 

Lm.  Some  Angel  fly  toth'  EngHsk  Court,  and  tell 
His  Message  e're  he  come;  that  some  quick  blessing. 
To  this  afflicted  Country,  may  arrive 

Whilst  those  that  merit  it,  are  yet  alive.  [Exeunt, 

Thunder,  Enter  three  Witches  meeting  Hecat. 

I.  Witch,  How,  Hecat ^  you  look  angerly? 

Hecat,  Have  I  not  reason  Beldams  t 
Why  did  you  all  Traffick  with  Viacbeth 
'Bout  Riddles  and  affairs  of  Death, 
And  cal*d  not  me ;  All  you  have  done 
Hath  been  but  for  a  Weyward  Son : 
Make  some  amends  now :  get  you  gon. 
And  at  the  pit  of  Acheertm 
Meet  me  i'th'  morning :  Thither  he 
Will  come  to  know  his  Destiny. 
Dire  business  will  be  wrought  e're  Noon, 
For  on  a  comer  of  the  Moon, 
A  drop  my  Spectacles  have  found, 
I'le  catch  it  e*re  it  come  to  ground. 
And  that  distil'd  shall  yet  e're  night. 
Raise  from  the  Center  such  a  Spright : 
As  by  the  strength  of  his  Illusion, 
Shall  draw  Macbeth  to  his  Confusion. 


MACBETH  (D'AVENANT'S  VERSION).  337 

Viusick  and  Song. 

HEccate,  Ileccate,  Heccate !  Oh  come  away : 
Hark,  I  am  call'd,  my  little  Spirit  see, 
Sits  in  a  foggy  Qoud,  and  stays  for  me. 

Sing  within,  \y!iachine  descends. 

Come  away  Heccate^  Heccate  I  Oh  come  away : 

Hee,  I  come,  I  come,  with  all  the  speed  I  may, 
With  all  the  speed  I  may. 
Where's  Stadlingl 

2.  Here. 

Hec,  Where's  PuckU  t 

3.  Here,  and  Hopper  too,  and  Hehoay  too. 
I.  We  want  but  you,  we  want  but  you ; 

Come  away  make  up  the  Count, 

Hec.  I  will  but  Noint,  and  the  I  mount, 
I  will  but,  <5r*f. 

1.  Here  comes  down  one  to  fetch  his  due,  a  Kiss, 
A  Cull,  a  sip  of  blood. 

And  why  thou  staist  so  long,  I  muse. 
Since  th'  Air's  so  sweet  and  good. 

2.  O  art  thou  come ;  What  News  ? 
All  goes  fair  for  our  delight, 

Either  come,  or  else  refuse. 
Now  I'm  fumish'd  for  the  flight 
Now  I  go,  and  now  I  flye, 
Malking  my  sweet  Spirit  and  I, 

3.  O  what  a  dainty  pleasure's  this. 
To  sail  i'th'  Air 

While  the  ^ioon  shines  fair ; 

To  Sing,  to  Toy,  to  Dance  and  Kiss, 

Over  Woods,  high  Rocks  and  Mountains ; 

Over  Hills,  and  misty  Fountains : 

Over  Steeples,  Towers,  and  Turrets : 

We  flye  by  night  'mongst  troops  of  Spirits. 

No  Ring  of  Bells  to  our  Ears  sounds. 

No  howles  of  Wolves,  nor  Yelps  of  Hounds ; 

No,  nor  the  noise  of  Waters  breach. 

Nor  Cannons  Throats  our  Height  can  reach. 

1.  Come  let's  make  hast  she'll  soon  be  back  again : 

2.  But  whilst  she  moves  through  the  foggy  Air, 
Let's  to  the  Cave  and  our  dire  Charms  prepare. 

Finis  Actus  3. 
29  W 


338  APPENDIX. 


ACT  the  Arth.    SCENE  the  \st. 


T 


I.  Witch,  'nr^Hrice  the  brinded  Cat  hath  Mew'd. 

2.  Thrice,  and  once  the  Hedge-Pig  whin'd, 
Shutting  his  Eyes  against  the  Wind. 

3.  Harpier  cries,  tis  time,  tis  time. 

1.  Then  round  about  the  Cauldron  go, 
And  pojrson'd  Entrals  throw. 

This  Toad  which  under  Mossy  stone. 
Has  da3rs  and  nights  lain  thirty  one : 
And  swelter*d  Venom  sleeping  got, 
We*l  boyl  in  the  Inchanted  Pot. 

AIL  Double  double,  toyl  and  trouble; 
Fire  bum,  and  Cauldron  bubble. 

2.  The  Fillet  of  a  Fenny  Snake 
Of  Scuttle  Fish  the  vomit  black. 
The  Eye  of  New't,  and  Toe  of  Frog, 
The  wool  of  Bat,  and  tongue  of  Dog. 
An  Adders  fork  and  blind  Worms  sting, 
A  Lizzard's  leg,  and  Howlets  wing, 
Shall  like  a  Hell-broth  boil  and  bubble. 

AIL  Double,  double,  &*c. 

3.  The  scale  of  Dragon,  tooth  of  Wolf, 
A  Witches  mummy :  Maw  and  Gulf 

Of  Cormorant  and  the  Sea  Shark, 

The  root  of  Hemlock  dig'd  i'th*  dark. 

The  liver  of  blaspheming  Jew, 

With  gall  of  Goats,  and  slips  of  Yew, 

Pluckt  when  the  Afoon  was  in  Eclips, 

With  a  Turks  nose,  and  Tartars  lips 

The  finger  of  a  strangl'd  Babe 

Bom  of  a  Ditch  deliver'd  Drab, 

Shall  make  the  Greuel  thick  and  slab. 

Adding  thereto  a  fat  Dutchman's  Chawdron. 

For  the  ingredients  of  our  Cawdron. 

AIL  Double,  double,  &*c. 

2.  I'le  cool  it  with  a  Baboones  blood. 
And  so  the  Charm  is  firm  and  good. 

Enter  Heccate  and  the  other  three  Witches. 

Hec.  Oh  well  done,  I  commend  your  pains. 


MA  CBETH  (D  'A  VENA  NT'S  VERSION).  339 

And  every  one  shall  share  the  Gains. 
And  now  about  the  Cauldron  sing 
Like  Elves  and  Fairies  in  a  ring. 

Viusick  and  Song. 
Hec.    "O  Lack  Spirits,  and  white, 

-U  Red  Spirits  and  gray ; 
Mingle,  mingle,  mingle. 
You  that  mingle  may. 

I.  WUch.   Tiffin,  Tiffin,  keep  it  stiff  in. 
Fire  drake  Puckey,  make  it  luckey : 
Lyer  Robin,  you  must  bob  in. 

Chor.  A  round,  a  round,  about,  about, 
All  ill  come  running  in,  all  good  keep  out. 

1.  Here's  the  blood  of  a  Bat  1 
Hec,  O  put  in  that,  put  in  that. 

2.  Here's  Lizards  brain, 
Hec.  Put  in  a  grain. 

1.  Here's  Juice  of  Toad,  here's  oyl  of  Adder 
That  will  make  the  Charm  grow  madder. 

2.  Put  in  all  these,  'twill  raise  the  stanch ; 

Hec.  Nay  here's  three  ownces  of  a  red-hair*d  Wench. 
Chor.  A  round,  a  round,  &c. 

2.  I  by  the  pricking  of  my  Thumbs, 
Know  somthing  Wicked  this  way  comes. 
Open  Locks,  whoever  knocks. 

Enter  Macbeth. 

yiacb.  How  now  you  Secret,  black  and  mid-night  Haggs, 
What  are  you  doing  ? 

All.  A  deed  without  a  name. 

lA.acb.  I  conjure  you  by  that  which  you  profess. 
How  e're  you  come  to  know  it,  answer  me. 
Though  you  let  loose  the  raging  Winds  to  shake  whole  Towns, 
Though  bladed  Com  be  lodg'd,  and  Trees  blown  down. 
Though  Castles  tumble  on  their  Warders  heads  ; 
Though  Palaces  and  towring  Piramids 
Are  swallowed  up  in  Earth-quakes.     Answer  me, 

1.  Speak. 

2.  Pronounce. 

3.  Demand. 

4.  I'le  answer  thee 

^\acb.  What  Destinie's  appointed  for  my  Fate  ? 

Hec.  Thou  double  Thane  and  King ;  beware  lAacduffe : 
Avoiding  him,  yiacbeth  is  fafe  enough. 

'M.acb.  What  e're  thou  art  for  thy  kind  Caution,  Thanks. 

Hec.  Be  bold  and  bloody,  and  man's  hatred  scorn. 
Thou  shalt  be  harm'd  by  none  of  Woman  bom'd. 

Viacb.  Then  live  ULacduffe ;  what  need  I  fear  thy  power : 
But  none  can  be  too  sure,  thou  shalt  not  live. 
That  I  may  tell  pale  hearted  fear  it  lies. 


340  APPENDIX, 

And  sleep  in  spite  of  Thunder. 

Hec,  Be  Confident,  be  Proud,  and  take  no  care 
VVho  wages  War,  or  where  Conspirers  are, 
Macdf/A  shall  like  a  lucky  Monarch  Raign, 
Till  Birnan  Wood  shall  come  to  Dunsenain. 

Macf).  Can  Forrests  move  ?  the  Prophesie  is  good, 
If  I  shall  never  fall  till  the  great  Wood 
Of  Birnan  rise ;  thou  may'st  presume  Macde/A, 
To  live  out  Natures  Lease,  and  pay  thy  breath 
To  Time  and  mortal  Custom.     Yet  my  heart 
Longs  for  more  Knowledge :  Tell  me  if  your  Art 
Extends  so  far :  shall  Ban^uo*s  Issue  o're 
This  Kingdom  raign  ? 

A//,  Enquire  no  more. 

Macd.  I  will  not  be  denyM.     Ha !  [Cauldron  sinks. 

An  eternal  Curse  fall  on  you ;  let  me  know 
Why  sinks  that  Cauldron,  and  what  noise  is  this. 

I.  Witch,  Appear.     2.  appear,    3.  appear. 
Wound  through  his  Eyes,  his  harden' d  Heart, 
Like  Shaddows  come,  and  straigth  depart. 

[A  shaddow  of  eight  Kings,  and  Banquo'j  Ghost 
after  them  pass  by, 

Macd,  Thy  Crown  offends  my  sight.     A  second  too  like  the  first. 
A  third  resembles  him :  a  fourth  too  like  the  former : 
Ye  filthy  Ha;^,  will  they  succeed 
Each  other  still  till  Dooms-day  ? 
Another  yet ;  a  seventh  ?     I'll  see  no  more : 
And  yet  the  eigth  appears. 
Ha  I  the  bloody  Banqtto  smiles  upon  me, 
And  by  his  smiling  on  me,  seems  to  say 
That  they  are  all  Successors  of  his  race. 

//<v.  Ay,  Sir,  all  this  is  so :  but  why 
Macbethy  stand'st  thou  amazedly  : 
Come  Sisters,  let  us  chear  his  heart, 
And  shew  the  pleasures  of  our  Art ; 
lie  charm  the  Air  to  give  a  sound 
WTiile  you  perform  your  Antick  round. 

\^Afusick,    The  Witches  Dance  and  Vanish, 
Ihc  Cave  sinks 

Macb.  Where  are  they  ?     Gone  ? 
Let  this  pernicious  hour  stand 
Accurs'd  to  all  eternity.  [without  there. 

Enter  Seyton. 

Seyt.  \Vhat's  your  Graces  will  ? 

Macb,  Saw  you  the  Wayward  sisters  ? 

Seyt,  No  my  Lord. 

yiacb.  Came  they  not  by  you? 

Seyt,  By  me  Sir  ? 

Macb,  Infected  be  the  Earth  in  which  they  sunk. 


MA  CBETH  (D  'A  VENA  NT 'S  VERSION).  34 1 

And  Damn'd  all  those  that  trust  *em.     Just  now 

I  heard  the  galloping  of  Horse ;  who  was't  came  by  ? 

Seyt.  A  Messenger  from  the  English  Court,  who 
Brings  word  Macduff  is  fled  to  England, 

Macb.  Fled  to  England? 

Seyt.  Ay  my  Lord. 

yiacb.  Time  thou  *Anticipat'st  all  my  Designes ; 
Our  Purposes  seldom  succeed,  unless 
Our  Deeds  go  with  them. 
My  Thoughts  shall  henceforth  into  Actions  rise. 
The  Witches  made  me  cruel,  but  not  wise.  \^Exeunt. 

Enter  Macduffe's  Wife^  and  Lenox. 

Lady  Md.  I  then  was  frighted  with  th?  sad  alann 
Of  Banquo's  Death,  when  I  did  counsel  him 
To  fly,  but  now  alas !  I  much  repent  it, 
What  had  he  done  to  leave  the  Land  ?     Macbeth 
Did  know  him  Innocent. 

Len.  You  must  have  patience  Madam. 

Lady  Md,  He  had  none. 
His  flight  was  madness.     When  our  Actions  do  not, 
Our  fears  oft  make  us  Traytors. 

Len.  You  know  not  whether  it  was  his  Wisdom  or  his  Fear. 

Lady  Md.  Wisdom  ?  to  leave  his  Wife  and  Children  in  a  place 
From  whence  himself  did  fly ;  he  loves  us  not. 
He  wants  the  natural  touch  :  For  the  poor  Wren 
(The  most  diminutive  of  Birds)  will  with 
The  Ravenous  Owl,  fight  stoutly  for  her  young  ones. 

Len.  Your  Husband,  Madam ; 
Is  Noble,  Wise,  Judicious,  and  best  knows 
The  fits  o'th'  Season.     I  dare  not  speak  much  further. 
But  cruel  are  the  Times ;  when  we  are  Traytors, 
And  do  not  know  our  selves :  when  we  hold  Rumor, 
From  what  we  fear,  yet  know  not  what  we  fear ; 
But  float  upon  a  wild  and  violent  Sea. 
Each  way,  and  more,  I  take  my  way  of  you : 
*T  shall  not  be  long  but  I'll  be  here  again. 
Things  at  the  worst  will  cease,  or  else  climb  upwards 
To  what  they  were  before.     Heaven  protect  you. 

Lady  Mad.  Farewell  Sir. 

Enter  a  Woman, 

Worn.  Madam,  a  Gentleman  in  haste  desires 
To  speak  with  you. 

Lady  Md.  A  Gentleman,  admit  him.  [Enter  Seyton. 

Seyton.  Though  I  have  not  the  honour  to  be  known 
To  you,  Yet  I  was  well  acquainted  with 
The  Lord  Macduff  which  brings  me  here  to  tell  you 
There's  danger  near  you,  be  not  found  here. 
Fly  with  your  little  one ;  Heaven  preserve  you, 
I  dare  stay  no  longer.  Exit  Seyton, 

29* 


342  APPENDIX, 

Lady  Md.  Where  shall  I  go,  and  whither  shall  I  fly  ? 
I've  done  no  harm;  But  I  remember  now 
I'm  in  a  vicious  world,  where  to  do  haim 
Is  often  prosperous,  and  to  do  good 
Accounted  dangerous  folly ;  Why  do  I  then 
Make  use  of  this  so  womanly  defence  ? 
I'le  boldly  in,  and  dare  this  new  Alarm : 
What  need  they  fear  whom  Innocense  doth  arm  ?  [£xi/» 

{Enter  Malcolm^  and  Macduff,  '\ 
The  Scene  Bimam  Wood,    ) 

Macd.  In  these  close  shades  of  Bimam  Wood  let  us 
Weep  our  sad  Bosoms  empty. 

Malcolm,  You'l  think  my  Fortunes  desperate. 
That  I  dare  meet  you  here  upon  your  summons. 

Macd,  You  should  now 
Take  Arms  to  serve  your  Country.     Each  new  day 
New  Widows  mourn,  new  Orphans  cry,  and  still 
Changes  of  sorrow  reach  attentive  Heaven. 

Malcm  This  Tirant  whose  foul  Name  blisters  our  Tongues, 
Was  once  thought  honest.     You  have  lov'd  him  well. 
He  has  not  toucht  you  yet. 

Macd,  I  am  not  treacherous. 

Male,  But  Macbeth  is. 
And  yet  Macduff  may  be  what  I  did  always  think  him. 
Just,  and  good. 

Macd.  I've  lost  my  hopes. 

Male.  Perhaps  even  there  where  I  did  find  my  doubts ; 
But  let  not  Jealousies  be  your  Dishonours, 
But  my  own  safeties. 

Macd.  Bleed,  Bleed,  poor  Country. 
Great  Tiranny,  lay  thy  Foundation  sure. 
Villains  are  safe  when  good  men  are  suspected, 
rie  say  no  more.     Fare  thee  well  young  Prince, 
I  would  not  be  that  Traytor  which  thou  thinkst  me 
For  twice  Alacbetks  reward  of  Treachery. 

Alalc.  Be  not  offended  : 
I  speak  not  as  in  absolute  fear  of  you  : 
I  think  our  Countrey  sinks  beneath  the  Yoak, 
It  weeps,  it  bleeds,  and  each  new  day  a  gash 
Is  added  to  her  wounds.     I  think  withall 
That  many  hands  would  in  my  Cause  be  active. 
And  here  from  gracious  England  have  I  offer 
Of  goodly  Thousands.     But  for  all  this. 
When  I  shall  tread  upon  the  Tirants  head. 
Or  wear  it  on  my  Sword ;  yet  my  poor  Country 
Will  suffer  under  greater  Tiranny 
Than  what  it  suffers  now. 

Macd.  It  cannot  be. 

Male,  Alas  I  find  my  Nature  so  inclin'd 


MA  CBETH  (D  'A  VENANT'S  VERSION).  34  3 

To  vice,  that  foul  Macbeth  when  I  shall  rule, 
Will  seem  as  white  as  Snow. 

Macd.  There  cannot  in  all  ransackt  Hell  be  found 
A  Devil  equal  to  Macbeth. 

Male,  I  grant  him  bloody  false,  deceiptful  malitious, 
And  participating  in  some  sins  too  horrid  to  name ; 
But  there's  no  bottom,  no  depths  in  my  ill  appetite. 
If  such  a  one  be  fit  to  govern,  speak  ? 

Macd.  O  Scotlondy  Scotland,  when  shalt  thou  see  day  again  ? 
Since  that  the  truest  Issue  of  thy  Throne, 
Disclaims  his  Virtue  to  avoid  the  Crown  ? 
Your  Royal  Father 

Was  a  most  Saint-like  King ;  the  Queen  that  bore  you, 
Oftner  upon  her  Knees,  than  on  her  Feet, 
Dy'd  every  day  she  liv*d.     Fare  thee  well, 
These  Evils  thou  repeat'st  upon  thy  self. 
Hath  banisht  me  from  Scotland.    O  my  breast  I 
Thy  hope  ends  here. 

Male,  Macduff  this  Noble  Passion 
Child  of  integrity  hath  from  my  Soul 
Wip'd  the  black  scruples,  reconcil'd  my  Thoughts 
To  thy  good  truth  and  honour.     Macbeth 
By  many  of  these  Trains  hath  sought  to  win  me 
Into  his  Power :  And  modest  wisdom  plucks  me 
From  over-credulous  haste.     But  now 
I  put  my  self  to  thy  direction,  and 
Unspeak  mine  own  Detraction.     I  abjure 
The  taunts  and  blames  I  laid  upon  my  self. 
For  strangers  to  my  Nature.     What  I  am  truly 
Is  thine,  and  my  poor  Countre3rs  to  command. 
The  gracious  Edward  has  lent  us  Seymour^ 
And  ten  thousand  Men.     Why  are  you  silent  ? 

Macd'  Such  welcom  and  unwelcom  things  at  once 
Are  Subjects  for  my  Wonder  not  my  Speech, 
My  grief  and  Joy  contesting  in  my  bosom, 
I  find  that  I  can  scarce  my  tongue  command, 
When  two  Streams  meet  the  Water's  at  a  stand. 

Male.  Assistance  granted  by  thsit  pious  King 
Must  be  successful,  he  who  by  his  touch, 
Can  cure  our  Bodies  of  a  foul  Disease, 
Can  by  just  force  suddue  a  Traitors  Mind, 
Power  supernatural  is  unconfin'd. 

Macd.  If  his  Compassion  does  on  Men  Diseas*d 
Effect  such  Cures ;  What  Wonders  will  he  do, 

When  to  Compassion  he  ads  Justice  too  ?  [Exeunt. 

Enter  Macbeth  smd  Seaton, 

Macb,  Seaton,  go  bid  the  Army  March* 

Seat.  The  posture  of  Affairs  requires  your  Presence. 

Macb.  But  the  Indosposidon  of  my  Wife 


344  APPENDIX. 

Detains  me  here. 

Seat,  Th<£nemy  is  upon  oar  borders,  Scotland*s  in  danger. 

Macb.  So  is  my  Wife,  and  I  am  doubly  so. 
I  am  sick  in  her,  and  my  Kingdom  too. 
Seaton. 

Seaton,  Sir. 

Macb,  The  Spur  of  my  Ambition  prompts  me  to  go 
And  make  my  Kingdom  safe,  but  Love  which  softens  me 
To  pity  her  in  her  distress,  curbs  my  Resolves. 

Seat,  He*s  strangely  disorder'd. 

Macb,  Yet  why  should  Love  since  confined,  desire 
To  controul  Ambition,  for  whose  spreading  hopes 
The  world's  too  narrow.  It  shall  not;  Great  Fires 
Put  out  the  Less ;  Seaton  go  bid  my  Grooms 
Make  ready ;  He  not  delay  my  going. 

Seat.  I  go. 

Macb,  Stay  Seaton^  stay.  Compassion  calls  me  back. 

Seaton,  He  looks  and  moves  disorderly. 

Macb.  I'le  not  go  yet.  f  Enter  a  Servant, 

Seat,  Well  Sir.  I  who  whispers  Macbeth 

Macb.  Is  the  Queen  asleep  ? 

Seat,  What  makes  *em  whisper  and  his  countenance  change  ? 
Perhaps  some  new  design  has  had  ill  success. 

Macb,  Seaton,  Go  see  what  posture  our  Affairs  are  in. 

Seat,  I  shall,  and  give  you  notice  Sir.  [^Exit  Seat.] 

[Enter  Lcuiy  Macbeth,"] 

Macb,  How  does  my  Gentle  Love  ? 

Lady  Mb.  Duncan  is  dead. 

Macb.  No  words  of  that. 

Lady  Mb.  And  yet  to  Me  he  Lives. 
His  fatal  Ghost  is  now  my  shadow,  and  pursues  me 
Where  e're  I  go. 

Macb.  It  cannot  be  My  Dear, 
Your  Fears  have  misinform'd  your  eyes. 

Lady  Mb,  See  there ;  Believe  your  own. 
Why  do  you  follow  Me?  I  did  not  do  it. 

Macb.  Methinks  there's  nothing. 

Lady  Mb.  If  you  have  Valour  force  him  hence. 
Hold,  hold,  he's  gone.     Now  you  look  strangely. 

Macb.  'Tis  the  strange  error  of  your  Eyes. 

Lady  Mb,  But  the  strange  error  of  my  Eyes 
Proceeds  from  the  strange  Action  of  your  Hands. 
Distraction  does  by  fits  possess  my  head. 
Because  a  Crown  unjustly  covers  it. 
I  stand  so  high  that  I  am  giddy  grown. 
A  Mist  does  cover  me,  as  Clouds  the  tops 
Of  Hills.    Let  us  get  down  apace. 

Macb,  If  by  your  high  ascent  you  giddy  grow, 
'Tis  when  you  cast  your  Eyes  on  things  below. 


MACBETH  (D'AVENANT'S  VERSION),  345 

Lady  Mb.  You  may  in  Peace  resign  the  ill  gain'd  Crown. 
Why  should  you  labour  still  to  be  unjust? 
There  has  been  too  much  Blood  already  spilt. 
Make  not  the  Subjects  Victims  to  your  guilt. 

Macb.  Can  you  think  that  a  crime,  which  you  did  once 
Provoke  me  to  commit,  had  not  your  breath 
Blown  my  Ambition  up  into  a  Flame 
Duncan  had  yet  been  living. 

Lady  Mb,  You  were  a  Man. 
And  by  the  Charter  of  your  Sex  you  shou'd 
Have  govem'd  me,  there  was  more  crime  in  you 
When  you  obey'd  my  Councels,  then  I  contracted 
By  my  giving  it.     Resign  your  Kingdom  now, 
And  with  your  Crown  put  off  your  guilt. 

Macb.  Resign  the  Crown,  and  with  it  both  our  Lives. 
I  must  have  better  Councellors. 

Lady  Mb,  What,  your  Witches  ? 
Curse  on  your  Messengers  of  Hell.     Their  Breath 
Infected  first  my  Breast :  See  me  no  more. 
As  King  your  Crown  sits  heavy  on  your  Head, 
But  heavier  on  my  Heart:  I  have  had  too  much 
Of  Kings  already.     See  the  Ghost  again.  [  Ghost  appears* 

Macb,  Now  she  relapses. 

Lculy  Mb,  Speak  to  him  if  thou  canst. 
Thou  look'st  on  me,  and  shew'st  thy  wounded  breast. 
Shew  it  the  Murderer. 

Macb,  Within  there.  Ho.  \^Enter  Women, 

Lady  Mb,  Am  I  ta'ne  Prisoner  ?  then  the  Battle's  lost,     \^Exit* 

{Lcuiy  Macbeth  Ud  out 
by  IVomen, 
Macb.  She  does  from  Duncons  death  to  sickness  grieve, 
And  shall  from  Malcoms  death  her  health  receive. 
When  by  a  Viper  bitten,  nothing's  good 
To  cure  the  venom  but  a  Vipers  blood. 

{Enter  Malcoms  Macduff \  and  Lenox, 
Meeting  them. 

Macd,,  See  who  comes  here  I 

Male,  My  Countrey-man ;  but  yet  I  know  him  not. 

Macd.  My  ever  Gentle  Couzin  I  Welcom. 

Male,  I  know  him  now. 
Kind  Heaven  remove  the  Means  that  makes  us  strangers. 

Len,  Amen. 

Macd.  What  looks  does  Scotland  bear  ? 

Len,  Alas  poor  Countrey,  almost  afraid  to  know  it  self. 
It  can't  be  call'd  our  Mother  but  our  Grave ;  where  nothing, 
But  who  knows  nothing  is  once  seen  to  smile  ? 
Where  sighs,  and  groans,  and  shrieks  that  rend  the  air. 
Are  made,  not  mark'd,  where  violent  sorrow  seemi 
A  Modern  Extasie :  there  Bells 


348  APPENDIX. 

\Enier  Lady  Macbeth.] 
See  here  she  comes :  observe  her,  and  stand  dose. 

Seat.  You  see  her  eyes  are  open. 

Lwfy.  Ay,  But  her  Sense  is  shut. 

Seat.  What  is't  she  does  now  ?  look  how  she  rubs  her  hands : 

Lady,  It  is  an  accustom'd  action  with  her  to  seem 
Thus  washing  her  hands :  I  have  known 
Her  continue  in  this  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Latfy  Mb.  Yet  out,  out,  here's  a  spot. 

Seat.  Heark,  she  speaks. 

Lady  Mb.  Out,  out,  out  I  say.    One,  two :  Nay  then 
'Tis  time  to  do't :  Fjr  my  Lord,  fy,  a  Soldier, 
And  afi&aid?  what  need  we  fear?  who  knows  it? 
There's  none  dares  call  our  Power  to  account : 
Yet  who  would  have  thought  the  old  Man  had 
So  much  Blood  in  him. 

Seat.  Do  yon  mark  that  ? 

Lady  Mb.  Macduff  had  once  a  W^fe ;  where  is  she  now  f 
Will  these  Hands  n'ere  be  dean  ?    Fy  my  Lord, 
You  spoil  all  with  this  starting :  Yet  here's 
A  smell  of  blood ;  not  all  the  perfumes  of  Arabia 
Will  sweeten  this  little  Hand.    Oh,  Oh,  Oh. 

[Exit. 

Seen.   II. 

Enter  Domalbain  and  Ffeau,  met  by  LetMX. 

Len.  Is  not  that  DONALBAIN kdA  young  Flean^  Banquds  Son. 

Don.  Who  is  this  my  worthy  Friend  ? 

Len,  I  by  your  presence  feel  my  hopes  full  blown, 
Which  hitherto  have  been  bat  in  the  Bud. 
What  happy  gale  has  brought  you  here  to  see 
Your  Fathers  Death  RevengM  ? 

Don.  Hearing  of  aid  sent  by  the  English  King, 
To  check  the  Tirants  Insolence ;  I  am  come 
From  Ireland: 

Flea.  And  I  from  France,  we  are  but  newly  met. 

Don.  Where's  my  Brother? 

Len.  He  and  the  Good  Macduff  are  with  the  Army 
Behind  the  Wood. 

Don.  What  do's  the  Tyrant  now  ? 

Len.  He  strongly  Fortifies  in  Dunsinane ; 
Some  say  he  is  Mad,  others  who  Love  him  less. 
Call  it  a  Valiant  Fury ;  but  what  e're 
The  matter  is,  there  is  a  Civil  War 
Within  his  Bosom ;  and  he  finds  his  Crown 
Sit  loose  about  him :  His  Power  grows  less, 
His  Fear  grows  greater  still. 

Don.  Let's  haste  and  meet  my  Brother, 
My  Interest  is  Grafted  into  his. 


MACBETH  (D'AVENANT*S  VERSION).  347 

Let's  make  us  Cordials  of  our  great  Revenues, 
To  cure  this  deadly  Grief. 

Macd:  He  has  no  Children,  nor  can  he  feel 
A  fathers  Grief :  Did  you  say  all  my  Children  ? 
Oh  hellish  ravenous  Kite !  all  three  at  one  swoop ! 

Male:  Dispute  it  like  a  Man. 

Macdx  I  shall. 
But  I  must  Brst  too  feel  it  as  a  Man. 
I  cannot  but  remember  such  things  were, 
And  were  most  precious  to  me :  Did  Heaven  look  on. 
And  would  not  take  their  part  ?  sinful  Macduff ^ 
They  were  all  struck  for  thee ;  for  thee  they  fell : 
Not  for  their  own  offences ;  but  for  thine. 

Male;  Let  this  give  Edges  to  our  Swords ;  let  your  tears 
Become  Oyl  to  our  kindled  Rage. 

Macdi  Oh  I  could  play  the  Woman  with  my  Eyes, 
And  brag  on't  with  my  tongue ;  kind  Heavens  bring  this 
Dire  Friend  of  Scotland,  and  my  self  face  to  face, 
And  set  him  within  the  reach  of  my  keen  Sword. 
And  if  he  outlives  that  hour,  may  Heaven  forgive 
His  sins,  and  punish  Me  for  his  escape. 

Male:  Let's  hasten  to  the  Army,  since  Macbeth 
Is  ripe  for  fall. 

Macd.  Heaven  give  our  quarrel  but  as  good  success 
As  it  hath  Justice  in't :  Kind  Powers  above 
Grant  Peace  to  us,  whilst  we  take  his  away ; 
The  Night  is  long  that  never  finds  a  Day.  \^Exeunt. 


ACT.  V.    Seen.  I. 


[Enter  Seaton,  and  a  Lady.] 

Ladyx  I  have  seen  her  rise  from  her  bed,  throw 
Her  Night-Gown  on  her,  unlock  her  Closet, 
Take  forth  Paper,  fold  it,  write  upon't,  read  it. 
Afterwards  Seal  it,  and  again  return  to  Bed, 
Yet  all  this  while  in  a  most  fast  sleep. 

Seal:  *Tis  strange  she  should  receive  the  Benefit 
Of  sleep,  and  do  the  Effects  of  waking. 
In  this  disorder  what  at  any  time  have 
You  heard  her  say  ? 

Lady.  That  Sir,  which  I  will  not  report  of  her. 

Seat:  You  may  to  Me ;  and  *tis  most  meet  you  shou'd. 

Lady.  Neither  to  You,  nor  any  one  living; 
Having  no  witness  to  confirm  my  Speech. 


348  APPENDIX. 

{Enter  Lady  Macbeth.] 
See  here  she  comes :  observe  her,  and  stand  close. 

Seat,  You  see  her  eyes  are  open. 

Lady.  Ay,  But  her  Sense  is  shut. 

Seat,  What  is't  she  does  now?  look  how  she  rubs  her  hands : 

Lady,  It  is  an  accustom'd  action  with  her  to  seem 
Thus  washing  her  hands :  I  have  known 
Her  continue  in  this  a  quarter  of  an  hour. 

Lady  Mb.  Yet  out,  out,  here's  a  spot. 

Seat.  Heark,  she  speaks. 

Lady  Mb,  Out,  out,  out  I  say.    One,  two :  Nay  then 
'Tis  time  to  do't :  Fjr  my  Lord,  fy,  a  Soldier, 
And  afi&aid ?  what  need  we  fear?  who  knows  it  ? 
There's  none  dares  call  our  Power  to  account : 
Yet  who  would  have  thought  the  old  Man  had 
So  much  Blood  in  him. 

Seat.  Do  you  mark  that? 

Lady  Mb,  Macduff  had  once  a  Wife ;  where  is  she  now  f 
Will  these  Hands  n'ere  be  dean  ?    Fy  my  Lord, 
You  spoil  all  with  this  starting :  Yet  here's 
A  smell  of  blood;  not  all  the  perfumes  of  Arabia 
Will  sweeten  this  little  Hand.    Oh,  Oh,  Oh. 

[Exit, 

Seen.   11. 

Enter  Dtmalbain  and  Ffeau,  met  by  Lenox, 

Len.  Is  not  that  DONALBAINvaA  young  Ftean,  Banquds  Son. 

D<m.  Who  is  this  my  worthy  Friend  ? 

Len,  I  by  your  presence  feel  my  hopes  full  blown, 
Which  hitherto  have  been  but  in  the  Bud. 
What  happy  gale  has  brought  you  here  to  see 
Your  Fathers  Death  Revenged  ? 

Don,  Hearing  of  aid  sent  by  the  English  King, 
To  check  the  Tirants  Insolence ;  I  am  come 
From  Ireland: 

Flea,  And  I  from  France,  we  are  but  newly  met. 

Don,  Where's  my  Brother  ? 

Len,  He  and  the  Good  Macduff  are  with  the  Army 
Behind  the  Wood. 

Don,  What  do's  the  Tyrant  now  ? 

Len.  He  strongly  Fortifies  in  Dunsinane ; 
Some  say  he  is  Mad,  others  who  Love  him  less. 
Call  it  a  Valiant  Fury ;  but  what  e're 
The  matter  is,  there  is  a  Civil  War 
Within  his  Bosom ;  and  he  finds  his  Crown 
Sit  loose  about  him :  His  Power  grows  less. 
His  Fear  grows  greater  still. 

Don,  Let's  haste  and  meet  my  Brother, 
My  Interest  is  Grafted  into  his. 


MA  CBETH  (D  'A  VENANT  'S  VERSION),  349 

A.nd  cannot  Grow  without  it. 

Lett.  So  may  you  both  Out-grow  unlucky  Chance, 
And  may  the  Tyrant's  Fall  that  Growth  Advance. 

\^Exeunt. 

Scene  III. 

Enter  Macbeth,  Seat,  and  Attendants. 

Macb.  Bring  me  no  more  Reports :  Let  *em  flie  all 
Till  Byrnam  Wood  remove  to  Dunsinane 
I  cannot  fear.     What's  the  Boy  Malcome  ?     What 
Are  all  the  English  ?    Are  they  not  of  Women 
Bom  ?     And  t'all  such  I  am  Invincible, 
Then  flie  false  Thanes, 
By  your  Revolt  you  have  inflam'd  my  Rage, 
And  now  have  Borrowed  English  Blood  to  quench  it. 

Enter  a  Messenger, 
Now  Friend,  what  means  thy  change  of  Countenance  ? 

Mess.  There  are  Ten  Thousand,  Sir, 

Macb.  What,  Ghosts  ? 

Mess.  No,  Afmed  men. 

Macb.  But  such  as  shall  be  Ghosts  e're  it  be  Night. 
Art  thou  turnM  Coward  too,  since  I  made  thee  Captain  : 
Go  Blush  away  thy  Paleness,  I  am  sure 
Thy  Hands  are  of  another  Colour;  thou  bast  Hands 
Of  Blood,  but  Looks  of  Milk. 

Mess.  The  English  Force  so  please  you 

Macb.  Take  thy  Face  hence. 
He  has  Infected  me  with  Fear 
I  am  sure  to  die  by  none  of  Woman  mom. 
And  yet  the  English  Drums  beat  an  Alarm, 
As  fatal  to  my  Life  as  are  the  Crokes 
Of  RavenSy  when  they  Flutter  about  the  Windows 
Of  departing  men. 

My  Hopes  are  great,  and  yet  me-thinks  I  fear 
My  Subjects  cry  out  Curses  on  my  Name, 
Which  like  a  North- wind  seems  to  blast  my  Hopes : 

Seat.  That  Wind  is  a  contagious  Vapour  exhal'd  from  Blood. 

Enter  Second  Messenger, 
What  News  more  ? 

2.  Mess.  All's  confirm'd  my  Leige,  that  was  Reported. 

Macb.  And  my  Resolves  in  spite  of  Fate  shall  be  as  firmly. 
Send  out  more  Horse ;  and  Scour  the  Country  roimd. 
How  do's  my  Wife  ? 

Seat.  Not  so  Sick,  my  Lord,  as  She  is  Troubled 
With  disturbing  Fancies,  that  keep  Her  from  Her  rest. 

Macb.  And  I,  me-thinks,  am  Sick  of  her  Disease : 
Seaton  send  out ;  Captain,  the  Thanes  flie  from  thee : 
Wou'd  she  were  well,  Tde  quickly  win  the  Field. 

30 


350  APPENDIX. 

Stay  SeaioH^  stay,  I'le  bear  yoa  company. 
The  EngUsh  cannot  long  maintain  the  Fight; 
They  come  not  here  to  KiU,  hnt  to  be  Slain; 
Send  ont  oar  Sconts. 

Seat,  Sir,  I  am  gone. 
Ande\  Not  to  Obey  jrour  Orden,  but  the  Call  of  Justice. 
I*le  to  the  English  Train  whose  Hopes  are  buUt 
Upon  their  Cause,  and  not  on  Witches  Ptopheries,  [Exit, 

Maeb,  Foot  TkMnetf  yon  vainly  hope  for  Victory : 
You'l  find  MiuiM  Inyindble ;  or  if 
He  can  be  O'recome,  it  must  be  then 
By  Eimam  OoAt,  and  not  by  English-men.  {^Exit, 

Seen.  IV. 

Enter  JIMc^mt  Ihmm^aim,  Seymwr,  Mmeduff^  Ltn^M^ 

EUam,  S&tUdiert, 

MaU.  The  Sun  shall  see  us  Dndn  the  Tyrants  Blood 
And  Dry  up  Scotiands  Tears :  How  much  we  are 
Obliged  to  EngUmd,  which  like  a  kind  Neighbour 
Lilt's  us  up  when  we  were  Fall'n  below 
Our  own  Recovery. 

Seym.  What  Wood  is  this  before  us? 

Male.  The  Wood  of  Bimam. 

Seym.  Let  every  Sonldier  hew  him  down  a  Bough, 
And  bear't  before  him :  By  that  we  may 
Keep  the  number  of  our  Force  undiscovered 
By  the  Enemy. 

Male.  It  shall  be  done.    We  Learn  no  more  then  Aat 
The  Confident  Tyrant  keeps  still  in  Dunsinane, 
And  will  endure  a  Seige. 
He  is  of  late  grown  Conscious  of  his  Guilt, 
Which  makes  him  make  that  City  his  Place  of  Refuge. 

Macd.  He'l  find  even  there  but  little  Safety ; 
His  very  Subjects  will  aginst  him  Rise. 
So  Travellers  Flie  to  an  Aged  Bam 
For  Shelter  from  the  Rain ;  when  the  next  Shock 
Of  Wind  throws  Down  that  Roof  upon  their  Heads, 
From  which  they  hop*d  for  Succour. 

Lett,  The  wretched  Kernes  which  now  like  Boughs  are  ty'd, 
To  forc'd  Obedience ;  will  when  our  Swords 
Have  Cut  those  Bonds,  start  from  Obedience. 

Male.  May  the  Event  make  good  our  Guess : 

Macd.  It  must,  unless  our  Resolutions  fail 
They*l  kindle.  Sir,  their  just  Revenge  at  ours : 
Which  double  Flame  will  Singe  the  Wings  of  all 
The  Tyrants  hopes ;  deprived  of  those  Supports, 
He'l  quickly  Fall. 

Seym,  Let's  all  Retire  to  our  Commands ;  our  Breath 


MA  CBE  TH  (D  'A  VENA  NT'S  VERSION).  3  5  T 

Spent  in  Discourse  does  but  defer  bis  Deatb, 
And  but  delays  our  Vengeance, 

Macd,  G)me  let*s  go. 
The  swiftest  hast  is  for  Revenge  too  slow. 

[Exeunt, 
Enter  Macbeth,  and  Souldiers, 

Macb,  Hang  out  our  Banners  proudly  o*re  the  Wall, 
The  Cry  is  still,  they  Come :  Our  Castles  Strength 
Will  Laugh  a  Siege  to  Scorn :  Here  let  them  lie 
Till  Famine  eat  them  up :  Had  Seaton  still 
Been  ours,  and  others  who  now  Increase  the  Number 
Of  our  Enemies,  we  might  have  met  *em 
Face  to  Face.  [Noise  within. 

What  Noise  is  that  ? 

Ser,  It  seems  the  Cry  of  Women. 

Macb,  I  have  almost  forgot  the  Taste  of  Fears, 
The  time  has  been  that  Dangers  have  been  my  Familiars. 
Wherefore  was  that  Cry  ? 

Ser,  Great,  Sir,  the  Queen  is  Dead. 

Macb,  She  should  have  Di'd  hereafter, 
I  brought  Her  here,  to  see  my  Victines,  not  to  Die. 
To  Morrow,  to  Morrow,  and  to  Morrow, 
Creeps  in  a  stealing  pace  from  Day  to  Day, 
To  the  last  Minute  of  Recorded  Time : 
And  all  our  Yesterdays  have  lighted  Fools 
To  their  Eternal  Homes  .•  Out,  out  that  Candle, 
Life's  but  a  Walking  Shaddow,  a  poor  Player 
That  Struts  and  Frets  his  Hour  upon  the  Stage, 
And  then  is  Heard  no  more.     It  is  a  Tale 
Told  by  an  Ideot,  full  of  Sound  and  Fury 
Signifying  Nothing.  [Enter  a  Messenger, 

Thou  comest  to  use  thy  Tongue :  Thy  Story  quickly. 

Mess,  Let  my  Eyes  speak  what  they  have  seen, 
For  my  Tongue  cannot. 

Macb,  Thy  Eyes  speak  Terror,  let  thy  Tongue  expound 
Their  Language,  or  be  for  ever  Dumb. 

Mess.  As  I  did  stand  my  Watch  upon  the  Hill, 
I  lookt  towards  Bimam^  and  anon  me  thoughts 
The  Wood  began  to  move. 

Macb.  Lyar  and  Slave. 

Mess,  Let  me  endure  your  Wrath  if 't  be  not  so  ; 
Within  this  three  Mile  may  you  see  it  coming, 
I  say,  a  moving  Grove. 

Macb,  If  thou  speakst  False,  TU  send  thy  Soul 
To  th'o^her  World  to  meet  with  moving  Woods, 
And  walking  Forrests ; 
There  to  Possess  what  it  but  Dreamt  of  here. 
If  thy  Speech  be  true,  I  care  not  if  thou  doest 
The  same  for  me.     I  now  begin 


352  APPENDIX, 

To  doubt  the  Equivocation  of  the  Fiend, 

They  bid  me  not  to  fear  till  Bimam  Wood 

Should  come  to  Danstnane :  And  now  a  Wood 

Is  on  its  March  this  way ;  Arm,  Arm. 

Since  thus  a  Wood  do*s  in  a  March  appear, 

There  is  no  Flying  hence,  nor  Tarrying  here: 

Methinks  I  now  grow  weary  of  the  Sun, 

And  wish  the  Worlds  great  Glass  of  Life  were  run. 

\^Exeunt, 

Scene.  VI. 

Enter  Malcome,  Seymour^  Macduff^  Lenox,  Ftean,  Seaton, 
Donaibain,  and  their  Army  with  Boughs. 

Male :  Here  we  are  near  enough ;  throw  down 
Your  LeaBe  Skreens 

And  shew  like  those  you  are.     You  worthy  Uncle 
Shall  with  my  Brother  and  the  Noble  Lenox, 
March  in  the  Van,  whilst  Valiant  Seymour 
And  my  Self,  make  up  the  Gross  of  the  Army, 
And  follow  you  with  speed. 

Sey.  Fare  well ;  the  Monster  has  forsook  his  hold  and  comes 
To  offer  Battle. 

Maed  :  Let  him  come  on ;  his  Title  now 
Sits  Loose  about  him,  like  a  Giants  Robe 
Upon  a  Dwarfish  Thief. 

Enter  Macbeth. 

Macb,  'Tis  too  Ignoble,  and  too  base  to  Flie ; 
Who's  he  that  is  not  of  a  Woman  Bom, 
For  such  a  one  I  am  to  fear,  or  none. 

Enter  Lenox. 

Len,  Kind  Heaven,  I  thank  thee ;  have  I  found  thee  here ; 
Oh  Scotland !  Scotland  I  mayst  thou  owe  thy  just 
Revenge  to  this  sharp  Sword,  or  this  blest  Minute. 

Macb.  Retire  fond  Man,  I  wou'd  not  Kill  thee. 
\\'hy  should  Faulcons  prey  on  Flies  ? 
It  is  below  Macbeth  to  Fight  with  Men. 

Len.  But  not  to  Murder  Women. 

Macb.  LenoXy  I  pitty  thee,  thy  Arm's  too  weak. 

Len'.  This  Arm  has  hitherto  found  good  Success 
On  your  Ministers  of  Blood,  who  Murder'd 
Macduffs  Lady,  and  brave  Banquo'. 
Art  thou  less  Mortal  then  they  were  ?     Or  more 
Exempt  from  Punishment  ?     Because  thou  most 
Deserv'st  it.     Have  at  thy  Life. 

Macb:  Since  then  thou  art  in  Love  with  Death,  I  will 
Vouchsafe  it  thee.  [  They  fight  y  Lenox  falls. 

Thou  art  of  Woman  Bom,  I'm  sure.  \^Exit  Macb. 

Leni  Oh  my  dear  Country,  Pardon  me  that  I, 
Do  in  a  Cause  so  great,  so  quickly  Die.  [Dies. 


MACBETH  (D'AVENANT'S  VERSION),  353 

Enter  Macduff. 

Macd\  This  way  the  Noise  is,  Tyrant  shew  thy  Face, 
If  thou  be'st  Slain  and  by  no  hand  of  Mine, 
My  Wife  and  Childrens  Ghosts  will  haunt  me  for*t. 
I  cannot  Strike 

At  wretched  Slaves,  who  sell  their  Lives  for  Pay ; 
No,  my  Revenge  shall  seek  a  Nobler  Prey. 
Through  all  the  Paths  of  Death,  Tie  search  him  out : 
Let  me  but  find  him.  Fortune,  \^ExU. 

Enter  MaUom^  and  Seymor. 

Sey,  This  way.  Great  Sir,  the  Tyrants  People  Fight 
With  Fear  as  great  as  is  his  Guilt. 

Male,  See  who  Lies  here ;  the  Noble  Lenox  slain. 
What  Storm  has  brought  this  Blood  over  our 
Rising  hopes. 

Scy,  Restrain  your  Passion,  Sir,  let's  to  our  Men, 
Those  who  in  Noble  Causes  fall,  deserve 
Our  Pitty,  not  our  Sorrow. 
I  le  bid  some  Body  bear  the  Body  further  hence. 

\_Exeunt. 

Enter  Macbeth, 

Macb,  Why  should  I  play  the  Roman  Fool  and  Fall, 
On  my  own  Sword,  while  I  have  living  Foes 
To  Conquer ;  my  Wounds  shew  better  upon  them. 

Enter  Macduff, 

Macd,  Turn  Hell-Hound,  Turn. 

Macb.  Of  all  Men  else,  I  have  avoided  Thee ; 
But  get  thee  back,  my  Soul  is  too  much  clog'd 
With  Blood  of  thine  already. 

Macd.  rie  have  no  Words,  thy  Villanies  are  worse 
Then  ever  yet  were  Punisht  with  a  Curse. 

Macb.  Thou  mayst  as  well  attempt  to  Wound  the  Air, 
As  me ;  my  Destiny's  reserv'd  for  some  Immortal  Power, 
And  I  must  fall  by  Miracle ;  I  cannot  Bleed. 
Macd.  Have  thy  black  Deeds  then  tum'd  thee  to  a  Devil. 
Macb.  Thou  wouldst  but  share  the  Fate  of  Lenox. 
Macd.  Is  Lenox  slain  ?  and  by  a  Hand  that  would  Damn  all  it  kills. 
But  that  their  Cause  preserves  *em. 

Macb  I  have  a  Prophecy  secures  my  Life. 

Macd.  I  have  another  which  tells  me  I  shall  have  his  Blood, 
Who  first  shed  mine. 

Macb.  None  of  Woman  bom  can  spill  my  Blood. 

Macd.  Then  let  the  Devils  tell  thee,  Macduff 
Was  from  his  Mothers  Womb  untimely  Ript. 

Macb,  Curst  be  that  Tongue  that  tells  me  so, 
And  double  Damn'd  be  they  who  with  a  double  sence 
Make  Promises  to  our  Ears,  and  Break  at  last 
That  Promise  to  our  sight :  I  will  not  Fight  with  thee. 

Macd.  Then  yield  thy  self  a  Prisoner  to  be  Led  about 

30»  X 


354  APPENDIX. 

The  World,  and  Gaz*d  on  as  a  Monster,  a  Monster 
More  Deform'd  then  ever  Ambition  Fram'd, 
Or  Tyrannie  could  shape. 

Macb,  I  scorn  to  Yield.     I  will  in  spite  of  Enchantment 
Fight  with  thee,  though  Bimam  Wood  be  come 
To  Dunsinane : 

And  thou  art  of  no  Woman  Bom,  I'le  try, 
If  by  a  Man  it  be  thy  Fate  to  Die.  f  They  Fight,  Macbeth 

\  falls.   They  shottt  within 

Macd,  This  for  my  Royal  Master  Duncan, 
This  for  my  dearest  Friend  my  Wife, 
This  for  those  Pledges  of  our  Loves,  my  Children. 
Hark  I  hear  a  Noise,  sure  there  are  more  \^Shout  within. 

Reserves  to  Conquer. 
I'le  as  a  Trophy  bear  away  his  Sword, 
To  witness  my  Revenge.  [Exit  Macduff. 

Macb.  Farewell  vain  World,  and  what's  most  vain  in  it, 

[Ambition  Dies. 
Enter  Malcolm,  Seymour,  Donalbain,  Flean,  Sea- 
ton,  and  Souldiers. 

Male.  I  wish  Macduff  were  safe  Anriv*d,  I  am 
In  doubt  for  him ;  for  Lenox  I'me  in  grief. 

Seym.  Consider  Lenox,  Sir,  is  nobly  Slain : 
They  who  in  Noble  Causes  fall,  deserve 
Our  Pity,  not  our  Sorrow.     Look  where  the  Tyrant  is. 

Seat.  The  Witches,  Sir,  with  all  the  Power  of  Hell, 
Could  not  preserve  him  from  the  Hand  of  Heaven. 
Enter  Macduff  with  Macbeths  Sword. 

Macd,  Long  Live  Malcolm,  King  of  Scotland,  so  you  are ; 
And  though  I  should  not  Boast,  that  one 
Whom  Guilt  might  easily  weigh  down,  fell 
By  my  hand  ;  yet  here  I  present  you  with 
The  Tyrants  Sword,  to  shew  that  Heaven  appointed 
Me  to  take  Revenge  for  you,  and  all 
That  Suffered  by  his  Power. 

Male.  Macduff ^  we  have  more  Ancient  Records 
Then  this  of  your  successful  Courage. 

Macd.  Now  Scotland^  thou  shalt  see  bright  Day  again. 
That  Cloud's  remov'd  that  did  Ecclipse  thy  Sun, 
And  Rain  down  Blood  upon  thee :  As  your  Arms 
Did  all  contjibute  to  this  Victory ; 
So  let  your  Voices  all  concur  to  give 
One  joyful  Acclamation. 
Long  Live  Malcolm^  I^i^g  of  Scotland. 

Male.  We  shall  not  make  a  large  Expence  of  time 
Before  we  Reckon  with  your  several  Loves, 
And  make  us  even  with  you :    Thanes  and  Kinsman, 
Henceforth  be  Earls,  the  first  that  ever  Scotland 
Saw  Honoured  with  that  Title :  And  may  they  still  Flourish 


HO  UNSHED.  355 

On  your  Families ;  though  like  the  Laurels 

You  have  Won  to  Day ;  they  Spring  from  a  Field  of  Blood. 

Drag  his  Body  hence,  and  let  it  Hang  upon 

A  Pinnacle  in  Dunsinane^  to  shew 

To  shew  to  future  Ages  what  to  those  is  due, 

Who  others  Right,  by  Lawless  Power  pursue. 

Macd.  So  may  kind  Fortune  Crown  your  Raign  with  Peace, 
As  it  has  Crown'd  your  Armies  with  Success ; 
And  may  the  Peoples  Prayers  still  wait  on  you. 
As  all  their  Curses  did  Macbeth  pursue : 
His  Vice  shall  make  your  Virtue  shine  more  Bright, 
As  a  Fair  Day  succeeds  a  Stormy  Night. 

FINIS.    Actus  Y. 


THE  SOURCE  OF  THE  PLOT. 

The  historical  incidents  (if  a  medley  of  fable  and  tradition  may  be  accounted 
historical)  in  the  tragedy  of  *  Macbeth '  are  found  in  the  Scotorum  Historic  of 
Hector  Boece,  first  printed  at  Paris  in  1526.  This  Boece,  or  Boyce,  was  the  first 
Principal  of  King's  College,  Aberdeen,  and  his  work  was  translated  into  the  Scotch 
dialect  by  John  Bellenden,  archdeacon  of  Moray,  in  1 541.  Messrs  Clark  and 
Wright  say  that  there  b  iJB|k|o  think  that  Holinshed  consulted  this  transla 
tion.  The  name  MacbetuKHKiy  even  have  been  taken  from  Bellenden,  as  a 
rendering  of  the  *'  MaccabiAQpPpr  Boece,  and  from  the  same  source  may  have  been 
derived  the  translation  of  soldtrum  amentiale  by  <<  Mekilwort."  '  Be  this  as  it  may, 
Holinshed  is  Shakespeare's  authority.  Hector  Boece  is  Holinshed's,  and  Boece  fol- 
lows  Fordun,  adding  to  him,  however,  very  freely.*  Although  Shakespeare  obtained 
the  materials  for  the  plot  of  this  tragedy  from  Holinshed,  yet  he  did  not  confine 
himself  to  the  history  of  '  Macbeth,'  for  around  the  murder  of  Duncan  he  weaves 
certain  details  which  are  historically  connected  with  the  murder  of  King  Dufie,  the 
great-grandfather  of  Lady  Macbeth.  How  far  Shakespeare  diverged  from  the 
chronicler,  especially  in  the  character  of  Banquo,  the  student  can  best  determine  for 
himself  by  means  of  the  following  extracts,  which  contain  all  the  passages  referred 
to  throughout  the  play  by  the  various  commentators.  The  text  here  given  is  that  of 
the  edition  of  1587. 

It  appears  that  King  Duffe,  who  commenced  ^his  reign  <  in  the  yeare  after  the 
incarnation  968,  as  saith  Hector  Boetius,'  treated  <  diuers  robbers  and  pillers  of  the 
common  people '  in  a  style  which  created  no  small  offence ;  some  were  executed, 
and  the  rest  were  obliged  *  either  to  get  them  ouer  into  Ireland,  either  else  to  leame 
some  manuall  occupation  wherewith  to  get  their  liuing,  yea  though  they  were  neuer 


356  APPENDIX, 

so  great  gentlemen  borne.'     There  was  therefore  great  murmuring  at  such  rigorous 
reforms.     But, 

*  In  the  meane  time  the  king  [Duffe]  fell  into  a  languishing  disease,  not  so 
greeuous  as  strange,  for  that  none  of  his  physicians  could  perceiue  what  to  make 
of  it.  For  there  was  scene  in  him  no  token,  that  either  choler,  melancholic,  flegme, 
or  any  other  vicious  humor  did  any  thing  abound,  whereby  his  bodie  should  be 
brought  into  such  decaie  and  consumption  (so  as  there  remained  vnneth  anie  thing 
vpon  him  saue  skin  and  bone.) 

*  And  sithens  it  appeared  manifestlie  by  all  outward  signes  and  tokens,  that  naturall 
moisture  did  nothing  faile  in  the  vitall  spirits,  his  colour  also  was  fresh  and  faire  to 
behold,  with  such  liuelines  of  looks,  that  more  was  not  to  be  wished  for ;  he  had 
also  a  temperat  desire  and  appetite  to  his  meate  &  drinkci^but  yet  could  he  not  sleepe 
in  the  night  time  by  any  prouocations  that  could  be  deuised,  but  still  fell  into  exceed- 
ing sweats,  which  by  no  means  might  be  restreined.  The  physicians  perceiuing  all 
their  medicines  to  want  due  effect,  yet  to  put  him  in  some  comfort  of  helpe,  de- 
clared to  him  that  they  would  send  for  some  cunning  physicians  into  forreigne  parts, 
who  happilie  being  inured  with  such  kind  of  diseases,  should  easilie  cure  him,  namelie 
so  soone  as  the  spring  of  the  yeare  was  once  come,  which  of  it  selfe  should  helpe 
much  thervnto.' 

The  Chronicle  goes  on  to  state  that  the  *  king  being  sicke  yet  he  regarded  iustice 
to  be  executed,*  and  that  a  rebellion  which  arose  was  kept  from  his  knowledge,  *  foi 
doubt  of  increasing  his  sicknes.'     It  then  proceeds  : 

*  But  about  that  present  time  there  was  a  murmuring  amongst  the  people,  how  the 
king  was  vexed  with  no  naturall  sicknesse,  but  by  sorcerie  and  raagicall  art,  prac- 
tised by  a  sort  of  witches  dwelling  in  a  towne  of  Murreyland,  called  Fores. 

*  Wherevpon,  albeit  the  author  of  this  secret  talke  was  not  knowne :  yet  being 
brought  to  the  kings  eare,  it  caused  him  to  send  foorthwith  certeine  wittie  persons 
thither,  to  inquire  of  the  truth.  They  that  were  thus  sent,  dissembling  th<e  cause  of 
their  iornie,  were  receiued  in  the  darke  of  the  night  into  the  castell  of  Fores  by  the 
lieutenant  of  the  same,  called  Donwald,  who  continuing  faithfull  to  the  king,  had 
kept  that  castell  against  the  rebels  to  the  kings  vse.  Vnto  him  therefore  these  mes- 
sengers declared  the  cause  of  their  comming,  requiring  his  aid  for  the  accomplish- 
ment of  the  kings  pleasure. 

*  The  souldiers,  which  laie  there  in  garrison  had  an  inkling  that  there  was  some 
such  mailer  in  hand  as  was  talked  of  amongst  the  people ;  by  reason  that  one  of 
them  kept  as  concubine  a  yoong  woman,  which  was  daughter  to  one  of  the  witches 
as  his  paramour,  who  told  him  the  whole  maner  vscd  by  hir  mother  &  other  hir 
companions,  with  their  intent  also,  which  was  to  make  awaie  the  king.  The  soul- 
dier  hauing  learned  this  of  his  Icmman,  told  the  same  to  his  fellowes,  who  made 
report  to  Donwald,  and  hee  shewed  it  to  the  kings  messengers,  and  therwiih  sent 
for  the  yoong  damosell  which  the  souldier  kept,  as  then  being  within  the  castell,  and 
caused  hir  vpon  streict  examination  to  confesse  the  whole  matter  as  she  had  scene 
and  knew.  Wherevpon  learning  by  hir  confession  in  what  house  in  the  towne  it  was 
where  they  wrought  there  mischiefous  mystcrie,  he  sent  foorth  souldiers,  about  the 

middest  of  the  night,  who  breaking  into  the  house,  found  one  of  the 

'     '     '       witches  rosting  vpon  a  woodden   broch  an  image  of  wax   at  the  fier, 

resembling  in  each  feature  the  kings  person,  made  and  deuised  (as  is  to  be  thought) 

by  craft  and  art  of  the  diuell :   an  other  of  them  sat  reciting  certeine  words  of 

inchantment,  and  still  basted  the  image  with  a  certeine  liquor  verie  busilie. 


HOLINSHED.  357 

*  The  souldiers  finding  them  occupied  in  this  wise,  tooke  them  togither  with  the 
image,  and  l^d  them  into  the  castell,  where  being  streictlie  examined  for  what  pur- 
pose they  went  about  such  manner  of  inchantment,  they  answered,  to  the  end  to 
make  away  the  king :  for  as  the  image  did  waste  afore  the  fire,  so  did  the  bodie  of 
the  king  breake  foorth  in  sweat.  And  as  for  the  words  of  inchantment,  they  serued 
to  keepe  him  still  waking  from  sleepe,  so  that  as  the  wax  cuer  melted,  so  did  the 
kings  flesh  :  by  the  which  meanes  it  should  haue  come  to  passe,  that  when  the  wax 
was  once  cleane  consumed,  the  death  of  the  king  should  immediatlie  follow.  So 
were  they  taught  by  euill  spirits,  and  hired  to  worke  the  feat  by  the  nobles  of  Mur- 
rey land.  The  standers  by,  that  heard  such  an  abhominable  tale  told  by  these  witches, 
streightwaies  brake  the  image,  and  caused  the  witches  (according  as  they  had  well 
deserued)  to  bee  burnt  to  death. 

'  It  was  said,  that  the  king,  at  the  verie  same  time  that  these  things  were  a  dooing 
within  the  castell  of  Fores,  was  deliuered  of  his  languor,  and  slept  that  night  with- 
out anie  sweat  breaking  foorth  vpon  him  at  all,  &  the  next  dale  being  restored  to  his 
strength,  was  able  to  doo  anie  maner  of  thing  that  lay  in  man  to  doo,  as  though  he 
had  not  beene  sicke  before  anie  thing  at  all.  But  howsoeuer  it  came  to  passe,  truth 
it  is,  that  when  he  was  restored  to  his  perfect  health,  he  gathered  a  power  of  men,  & 
with  the  same  went  into  Murrey  land  against  the  rebels  there,  and  chasing  them  from 
thence,  he  pursued  them  into  Rosse,  and  from  Rosse  into  Cathnesse,  where  appre- 
hending them,  he  brought  them  backe  vnto  Fores,  and  there  caused  them  to  be  hanged 
vp,  on  gallows  and  gibets. 

*  Amongest  them  there  were  also  certeine  yoong  gentlemen,  right  beautifull  and 
goodlie  personages,  being  neere  of  kin  vnto  Donwald  capteine  of  the  castell,  and 
had  beene  persuaded  to  be  partakers  with  the  other  rebels,  more  through  the  fraudu- 
lent counscll  of  diuerse  wicked  persons,  than  of  their  owne  accord :  wherevpon  the 
foresaid  Donwald  lamenting  their  case,  made  earnest  labor  and  sute  to  the  king  to 
haue  begged  their  pardon ;  but  hauing  a  plaine  deniall,  he  conceiued  such  an  inward 
malice  towards  the  king,  (though  he  shewed  it  not  outwardlie  at  the  first)  that  the 
same  continued  still  boiling  in  his  stomach,  and  ceased  not,  till  through  setting  on  of 

V  his  wife,  and  in  reuenge  of  such  vnthankefulnesse,  hee  found  meanes  to  murther  the 
king  within  the  foresaid  castell  of  Fores  where  he  vsed  to  soioume.  For  the  king 
being  in  that  countrie,  was  accustomed  to  lie  most  commonlie  within  the  same  castell, 
hauing  a  speciall  trust  in  Donwald,  as  a  man  whom  he  neuer  suspected. 

*  But  Donwald,  not  fof getting  the  reproch  which  his  linage  had  susteined  by  the 
execution  of  those  his  kinsmen,  whome  the  king  for  a  spectacle  to  the  people  had 
caused  to  be  hanged,  could  not  but  shew  manifest  tokens  of  great  griefe  at  home 
amongst  his  familie :  which  his  wife  perceiuing,  ceassed  not  to  trauell  with  him,  till 
she  vnderstood  what  the  cause  was  of  his  displeasure.  Which  at  length  when  she 
had  learned  by  his  owne  relation,  she  as  one  that  bare  no  lesse  malice  in  hir  heart 
towards  the  king,  for  the  like  cause  on  hir  behalfe,  than  hir  husband  did  for  his 
friends,  counselled  him  (sith  the  king  oftentimes  vsed  to  lodge  in  his  house  without 
anie  gard  about  him,  other  than  the  garrison  of  the  castell,  which  was  wholie  at  his 
commandement)  to  make  him  awaie,  and  shewed  him  the  meanes  wherby  he  might 
soonest  accomplish  it. 

*  Donwald  thus  being  the  more  kindled  in  wrath  by  the  words  of  his  wife,  deter- 
mined to  follow  hir  aduise  in  the  execution  of  so  heinous  an  act.  Whervpon  deuis- 
ing  with  himselfe  for  a  while,  which  way  hee  might  best  accomplish  his  curssed 
intent,  at  length  he  gat  opportunitie,  and  sped  his  purpose  as  followeth.     It  chanced 


/ 


358 


APPENDIX. 


that  the  king  vpon  the  daie  before  he  purposed  to  depart  foorth  of  the  castell,  was 
long  in  his  oratorie  at  his  praiers,  and  there  continued  till  it  was  late  in  the  night. 
At  the  last,  comming  foorth,  he  called  such  afore  him  as  had  faithfullie  serued  him  in 
pursute  and  apprehension  of  the  rebels,  and  giuing  them  heartie  thanks,  he  bestowed 
sundrie  honorable  gifts  amongst  them,  of  the  which  number  Donwald  was  one,  as  he 
that  had  beene  euer  accounted  a  most  faithfull  seruant  to  the  king. 

*  At  length,  hauing  talked  with  them  a  long  time,  he  got  him  into  his  priuie 

chamber,  onelie  with  two  of  his  chamberlains,  who  hauing  brought  him 
*  '  *  to  bed,  came  foorth  againe,  and  then  fell  to  banketting  with  Donwald 
and  his  wife,  who  had  prepared  diuerse  delicate  dishes,  and  sundrie  sorts  of  drinks 
for  their  reare  supper  or  collation,  wherat  they  sate  vp  so  long,  till  they  had  charged 
their  stomachs  with  such  full  gorges,  that  their  heads  were  no  sooner  got  to  the  pil- 
low, but  asleepe  they  were  so  fast,  that  a  man  might  haue  remooued  the  chamber 
ouer  them,  sooner  than  to  haue  awaked  them  out  of  their  droonken  sleepe. 

*  Then  Donwald,  though  he  abhorred  the  act  greatlie  in  his  heart,  yet  through  in- 
stigation of  his  wife,  hee  called  foure  of  his  seruants  vnto  him  (whome  he  had  made 
priuie  to  his  wicked  intent  before,  and.  framed  to  his  purpose  with  large  gifts)  and 
now  declaring  vnto  them,  after  what  sort  they  should  worke  the  feat,  they  gladlie 
obeied  his  instructions,  &  speedilie  going  about  the  murther,  they  enter  the  chamber 
(in  which  the  king  laie)  a  little  before  cocks  crow,  where  they  secretlie  cut  his  throte 
as  he  lay  sleeping,  without  anie  buskling  at  all :  and  immediatlie  by  a  posteme  gate 
they  caried  foorth  the  dead  bodie  into  the  fields,  and  throwing  it  vpon  an  horsse  there 
prouided  readie  for  that  purpose,  they  conuey  it  vnto  a  place,  about  two  miles  distant 
from  the  castell,  where  they  staled,  and  gat  certeine  labourers  to  helpe  them  to  tume 
the  course  of  a  little  riuer  running  through  the  fields  there,  and  digging  a  deepe  hole 
in  the  chanell,  they  burie  the  bodie  in  the  same,  ramming  it  vp  with  stones  and 
grauell  so  closelie,  that  setting  the  water  in  the  right  course  againe,  no  man  could 
perceiue  that  anie  thing  had  beene  newlie  digged  there.  This  they  did  by  order  ap- 
pointed them  by  Donwald  as  is  reported,  for  that  the  bodie  should  not  be  found,  & 
by  bleeding  (when  Donwald  should  be  present)  declare  him  to  be  guiltie  of  the 
murther.  For  such  an  opinion  men  haue,  that  the  dead  corps  of  anie  man  being 
slaine,  will  bleed  abundantlie  if  the  murtherer  be  present.  But  for  what  considera- 
tion soeuer  they  buried  him  there,  they  had  no  sooner  finished  the  worke,  but  that 
they  slue  them  whose  helpe  they  vsed  herein,  and  streightwaies  therevpon  fled  into 
Orknie. 

*  Donwald,  about  the  time  that  the  murther  was  in  dooing,  got  him  amongst  them 
th3l  kept  the  watch,  and  so  continued  in  companie  with  them  all  the  residue  of  the 
night.  But  in  the  morning  when  the  noise  was  raised  in  the  kings  chamber  how  the 
king  was  slaine,  his  bodie  conueied  awaie,  and  the  bed  all  beraied  with  bloud;  he 
with  the  watch  ran  thither,  as"tftM)|^mj|^iadknowne  nothing  of  the  matter,  and 
breaking  into  the  chamber,  and  finding  cake^^^bloud  in  the  bed,  and  on  the  floore 
about  the  sides  of  it,  he  foorthwith  slue  the  chamberleins,  as  guiltie  of  that  heinous 
murther,  and  then  like  a  mad  man  running  to  and  fro,  he  ransacked  eucrie  corner 
within  the  castell,  as  though  it  had  beene  to  haue  scene  if  he  might  haue  found  either 
the  bodie,  or  anie  of  the  murtherers  hid  in  anie  priuie  place  :  but  at  length  comming 
to  the  posteme  gate,  and  finding  it  open,  he  burdened  the  chamberleins,  whome  he 
had  slaine,  with  all  the  fault,  they  hauing  the  keies  of  the  gates  committed  to  their 
keeping  all  the  night,  and  therefore  it  could  not  be  otherwise  (said  he)  but  that  they 
were  of  counsell  in  the  committing  of  that  most  detestable  murther. 


HO  UNSHED.  359 

•  Finallie,  such  was  his  ouer  earnest  diligence  in  the  seuere  inquisition  and  triall 
of  the  offendors  heerein,  that  some  of  the  lords  began  to  mislike  the  matter,  and  to 
smell  foorth  shrewd  tokens,  that  he  should  not  be  altogither  cleare  himselfe.  But 
for  so  much  as  they  were  in  that  countrie,  where  hee  had  the  whole  rule,  what  by 
reason  of  his  friends  and  authoritie  togither,  they  doubted  to  vtter  what  they  thought, 
till  time  and  place  should  better  seme  therevnto,  and  heerevpon  got  them  awaie  euerie 
man  to  his  home.  For  the  space  of  six  moneths  togither,  after  this  heinous  murtber 
thus  committed,  there  appeered  no  sunne  by  day,  nor  moone  by  night  in 

anie  part  of  the  realme,  but  still  was  the  skie  couercd  with  continuall       *     * 
clouds,  and  sometimes  suche  outragious  windes  arose,  with  lightenings  and  tempests, 
that  the  people  were  in  great  feare  of  present  destruction.'  (pp.  149-15 1.) 

•  Monstrous  sights  also  that  were  seene  within  the  Scotish  kingdome  that  yeere* 
[that  is,  of  King  Duffe's  murder,  A.'D.  972]  *  were  these,  horsses  in 
Louthian,  being  of  singular  beautie  and  swiftnesse,  did  eate  their  owne       *     * 
flesh,  and  would  in  no  wise  taste  anie  other  meate.     In  Angus  there  was  a  gentle- 
woman brought  foorth  a  child  without  eies,  nose,  hand,  or  foot.     There 

was  a  sparhawke  also  strangled  by  an  owle..*  (p.  152.)  1     1  3- 

Thus  far  the  Chronicle  of  King  Dufi*e  supplied  Shakespeare  with  some  of  the 
details  and  accessories  of  his  tragedy ;  and  we  now  turn  to  the  history  of  the  hero 
himself,  Macbeth.'  But  there  is  one  other  incident  recorded  by  Holinshed,  on  one 
of  the  few  intermediate  pages  of  his  Chronicle,  between  the  stories  of  King  Duffe 
and  Macbeth,  which  I  cannot  but  think  attracted  Shakespeare's  notice  as  he  passed 
from  one  story  to  the  other,  and  which  was  afterward  worked  up  by  him  in  connection 
with  Duncan's  murder.  As  far  as  I  am  aware,  it  has  never  been  noted  by  any  editor 
or  commentator.  It  seems  that  Kenneth,  the  brother,  and  one  of  the  successors  of 
Duffe,  was  a  virtuous  and  able  prince,  and  would  have  left  an  unstained  name  had 
not  the  ambition  to  have  his  son  succeed  him  tempted  him  to  poison  secretly  his 
nephew  Malcome,  the  son  of  Duff  and  the  heir  apparent  to  the  throne.  Kenneth 
then  obtained  from  a  council  at  Scone  the  ratification  of  his  son  as  his  successor. 

*  Thus  might  he  seeme  happie  to  all  men,*  continues  Holinshed  (p.  158),  *but  yet  to 
himselfe  he  seemed  most  vnhappie  as  he  that  could  not  but  still  live  in  continuall 
feare,  least  his  wicked  practise  concerning  the  death  of  Malcome  Duffe  should  come 
to  light  and  knowledge  of  the  world.  For  so  commeth  it  to  passe,  that  such  as  are 
pricked  in  conscience  for  anie  secret  offense  committed,  haue  euer  an  vnquiet  mind.* 
[What  follows  suggested,  I  think,  to  Shakespeare  the  *  voice,'  at  II,  ii,  35,  that  cried 

*  sleep  no  more.*]  *  And  (as  the  fame  goeth)  it  chanced  that  a  voice  was  heard  as 
he  was  in  bed  in  the  night  time  to  take  his  rest,  vttering  vnto  him  these  or  the  like 
woords  in  effect :  "  Thinke  not  Kenneth  that  the  wicked  slaughter  of  Malcome 
Duffe  by  thee  contriued,  is  kept  secret  from  the  knowledge  of  the  etemall  God,'*  &c. 
....  The  king  with  this  voice  being  striken  into  great  dread  and  terror,  passed 
that  night  without  anie  sleepe  comming  in  his  eies.* 

•  After  Malcolme '  [that  is,  *  after  the  incarnation  of  our  Saviour  1034  yeeres,']  « su(  - 
ceeded  his  nephue  Duncane,  the  sonne  of  his  daughter  Beatrice :  for  Malcolme  had 
two  daughters,  the  one  which  was  this  Beatrice,  l>eing  giuen  in  mariage  vnto  one 
Abbanath  Crinen,  a  man  of  great  nobilitie,  and  thane  of  the  Isles  and  west  parts  of 
Scotland,  bare  of  that  mariage  the  foresaid  Duncane ;  The  other  called  Doada,  was 
maried  vnto  Sinell  the  thane  of  Glammis,  by  whom  she  had  issue  one 
Makbeth  a  valiant  gentleman,  and  one  that  if  he  had  not  beene  some-     * 

what  cruell  of  nature,  might  haue  beene  thought  most  woorthie  the  goucmcment  uf 


36o  APPENDIX, 

a  realme.  On  the  other  part,  Duncane  was  so  soft  and  gentle  of  nature,  that  the 
people  wished  the  inclinations  and  maners  of  these  two  cousins  to  haue  beene  so 
tempered  and  enterchangeablie  bestowed  betwixt  them,  that  where  the  one  had  too 
much  of  clemencie,  and  the  other  of  crueltie,  the  meane  vertue  betwixt  these  two 
extremities  might  haue  reigned  by  indifferent  partition  in  them  both,  so  should  Dun- 
cane haue  proued  a  woorthie  king,  and  Makbeth  an  excellent  capteine.  The  begin- 
ning of  Duncans  reigne  was  verie  quiet  and  peaceable,  without  anie  notable  trouble ; 
but  after  it  was  perceiued  how  negligent  he  was  in  punishing  ofifendors,  manie  mis- 
ruled persons  tooke  occasion  thereof  to  trouble  the  peace  and  quiet  state  of  the 
conmion-wealth,  by  seditious  commotions  which  first  had  their  beginnings  in  thb 
wise. 

*  Banquho  the  thane  of  Lochquhaber,  of  whom  the  house  of  the  Stewards  is 
descended,  the  which  by  order  of  linage  hath  now  for  a  long  time  inioied  the 
cro¥me  of  Scotland,  euen  till  these  our  dales,  as  he  gathered  the  finances  due  to  the 
king,  and  further  punished  somewhat  sharpelie  such  as  were  notorious  offendors, 
being  assailed  by  a  number  of  rebels  inhabiting  in  that  countrie,  and  spoiled  of  the 
monie  and  all  other  things,  had  much  a  doo  to  get  awaie  with  life,  after  he  had 
receiued  sundrie  grieuous  wounds  amongst  them.  Yet  escaping  their  hands,  after 
hee  was  somewhat  recouered  of  his  hurts  and  was  able  to  ride,  he  repaired  to  the 
court,  where  making  his  complaint  to  the  king  in  most  earnest  wise,  he  purchased 
at  length  that  the  offendors  were  sent  for  by  a  sergeant  at  armes,  to  appeare  to  make 
answer  vnto  such  matters  as  should  be  laid  to  their  charge :  but  they  augmenting 
their  mischiefous  act  with  a  more  wicked  deed,  after  they  had  misused  the  messen- 
ger with  sundrie  kinds  of  reproches,  they  finallie  slue  him  also. 

'  Then  doubting  not  but  for  such  contemptuous  demeanor  against  the  kings  regall 
authoritie,  they  should  be  inuaded  with  all  the  power  the  king  could  make,  Mak- 
dowald  one  of  great  estimation  among  them,  making  first  a  confederacie  with  his 
neerest  friends  and  kinsmen,  tooke  vpon  him  to  be  chiefe  capteine  of  all  such  rebels, 
as  would  stand  against  the  king,  in  maintenance  of  their  grieuous  offenses  latelie 
committed  against  him.  Manie  slanderous  words  also,  and  railing  tants  this  Mak- 
dowald  vttered  against  his  prince,  calling  him  a  faint-hearted  milkesop,  more  meet 
to  goueme  a  sort  of  idle  moonks  in  some  cloister,  than  to  haue  the  rule  of  such 
valiant  and  hardie  men  of  warre  as  the  Scots  were.  He  vsed  also  such  subtill  per- 
suasions and  forged  allurements,  that  in  a  small  time  he  had  gotten  togither  a  mightie 
power  of  men  :  for  out  of  the  westerne  Isles  there  came  vnto  him  a  gieat  multitude 
of  people,  offering  themselues  to  assist  him  in  that  rebellious  quarell,  and 
'  *  '  out  of  Ireland  in  hope  of  the  spoile  came  no  sm?ll  number  of  Kernes 
and  Galloglasses,  offering  gladlie  to  serue  vnder  him,  whither  it  should  please  him 
to  lead  them. 

*  Makdowald  thus  hauing  a  mightie  puissance  about  him,  incountered  with  such  of 
the  kings  people  as  were  sent  against  him  into  Lochquhaber,  and  discomfiting  them, 
by  mere  force  tooke  their  capteine  Malcolme,  and  after  the  end  of  the  battell  smote 
off  his  head.  This  ouerthrow  being  notified  to  the  king,  did  put  him  in  woonder- 
fuU  feare,  by  reason  of  his  small  skill  in  warlike  affaires.  Calling  therefore  his 
nobles  to  a  councell,  he  asked  of  them  their  best  aduise  for  the  subduing  of  Mak- 
dowald &  other  the  rebels.  Here,  in  sundrie  heads  (as  euer  it  happeneth)  were 
sundrie  opinions,  which  they  vttered  according  to  euerie  man  his  skill.  At  length 
Makbeth  speaking  much  against  the  kings  softnes,  and  ouermuch  slacknesse  in  pun- 
•shing  offendors,  whereby  they  had  such  time  to  assemble  togither,  he  promised  not- 


HOLINSHED,  361 

withstanding,  if  the  charge  were  committed  vnto  him  and  vnto  Banquho,  so  to  order 
the  matter,  that  the  rebels  should  be  shortly  vanquished  &  quite  put  downe,  and 
that  not  so  much  as  one  of  them  should  be  found  to  make  resistance  within  the 
countrie. 

/  And  euen  so  it  came  to  passe :  for  being  sent  foorth  with  a  new  power,  at  his 
entring  into  Lochquhaber,  the  fame  of  his  comming  put  the  enimies  in  such  feare, 
that  a  great  number  of  them  stale  secretlie  awaie  from  their  capteine  Makdowald, 
who  neucrthelesse  inforced  thereto,  gaue  battcll  vnto  Makbeth,  with  the  residue 
which  remained  with  him :  but  being  ouercome,  and  fleeing  for  refuge  into  a  castell 
(within  the  which  his  wife  &  children  were  inclosed)  at  length  when  he  saw  how 
he  could  neither  defend  the  hold  anie  longer  against  his  enimies,  nor  yet  vpon  sur- 
render be  suffered  to  depart  with  life  saued,  hee  first  slue  his  wife  and  children,  and 
lastlie  himselfe,  least  if  he  had  yeelded  simplie,  he  should  haue  beene  executed  in 
most  cruell  wise  for  an  example  to  other.  Makbeth  entring  into  the  castell  by  the 
gates,  as  then  set  open,  found  the  carcasse  of  Makdowald  lieng  dead  there  amongst 
the  residue  of  the  slaine  bodies,  which  when  he  beheld,  remitting  no  peece  of  his 
cruell  nature  with  that  pitifull  sight,  he  caused  the  head  to  be  cut  off,  and  set  vpon 
a  poles  end,  and  so  sent  it  as  a  present  to  the  king  who  as  then  laie  at  Bertha. 
The  headlesse  trunke  he  commanded  to  bee  hoong  vp  vpon  an  high  paire  of 
gallowes. 

'  Them  of  the  westeme  Isles  suing  for  pardon,  in  that  they  had  aided  Makdowald 
in  his  tratorous  enterprise,  he  fined  at  great  sums  of  moneie :  and  those  whome  he 
tooke  in  Lochquhaber,  being  come  thither  to  beare  armor  against  the  king,  he  put  to 
execution.  Hervpon  the  Ilandmen  conceiued  a  deadlie  grudge  towards  him,  call- 
ing him  a  couenant-breaker,  a  bloudie  tyrant,  &  a  cruell  murtherer  of  them  whome 
the  kings  mercie  had  pardoned.  With  which  reprochfuU  words  Makbeth  being 
kindled  in  wrathfoll  ire  against  them,  had  passed  ouer  with  an  armie  into  the  Isles, 
to  haue  taken  reuenge  vpon  them  for  their  liberall  talke,  had  he  not  beene  otherwise 
persuaded  by  some  of  his  friends,  and  partlie  pacified  by  gifts  presented  vnto  him 
on  the  behalfe  of  the  Ilandmen,  seeking  to  auoid  his  displeasure.  Thus  was  iustice 
and  law  restored  againe  to  the  old  accustomed  course,  by  the  diligent  means  of 
Makbeth.  Immediatlie  wherevpon  woord  came  that  Sneno  king  of  Norway  was 
arriued  in  Fife  with  a  puissant  armie,  to  subdue  the  whole  realme  of  Scotland.' 
(pp.  168, 169.) 

<  The  crueltie  of  this  Sueno  was  such,  that  he  neither  spared  man,  woman,  nor 
child,  of  what  age,  condition  or  degree  soeuer  they  were.  Whereof  when  K.  Dun- 
cane  was  certified,  he  set  all  slouthfull  and  lingering  delaies  apart,  and  began  to 
assemble  an  armie  in  most  speedie  wise,  like  a  verie  valiant  capteine :  for  oftentimes 
it  happcneth,  that  a  dull  coward  and  slouthfull  person,  constreined  by  necessitie,  be- 
commeth  verie  hardie  and  actiue.  Therefore  when  his  whole  power  was  come 
togither,  he  diuided  the  same  into  three  battels.  The  first  was  led  by 
Makbeth,  the  second  by  Banquho,  &  the  king  himselfe  gouemed  in  the  '  * 
maine  battell  or  middle  ward,  wherein  were  appointed  to  attend  and  wait  upon  his 
person  the  most  part  of  all  the  residue  of  the  Scotish  nobilitie. 

*  The  armie  of  Scotishmen  being  thus  ordered,  came  vnto  Culros,  where  incoun- 
tering  with  the  enimies,  after  a  sore  and  cruell  foughten  battell,  Sueno  remained  vic- 
torious, and  Malcolme  with  his  Scots  discomfited.  Howbeit  the  Danes  were  so 
broken  by  this  battell,  that  they  were  not  able  to  make  long  chase  on  their  enimies, 
but  kept  themselues  all  night  in  order  of  battell,  for  doubt  least  the  Scots  assembling 

31 


362  APPENDIX. 

togither  againe,  might  haue  set  vpon  them  at  some  aduantage.  On  the  morrow, 
when  the  fields  were  discouered,  and  that  it  was  perceiued  how  no  enimies  were  to 
be  found  abrode,  they  gathered  the  spoile,  which  they  diuided  amongst  them,  accord- 
ing to  the  law  of  armes.  Then  was  it  ordeined  by  commandement  of  Sueno,  that  no 
souldier  should  hurt  either  man,  woman,  or  child,  except  such  as  were  found  with 
weapon  in  hand  readie  to 'make  resistance,  for  he  hoped  now  to  conquer  the  realme 
without  further  bloudshed. 

*  But  when  knowledge  was  giuen  how  Duncane  was  fled  to  the  castell  of  Bertha, 
and  that  Makbeth  was  gathering  a  new  power  to  withstand  the  incursions  of  the 
Danes,  Sueno  raised  his  tents  &  comming  to  the  said  castell,  laid  a  strong  siege  round 
about  it.  Duncane  seeing  himselfe  thus  enuironed  by  his  enimies,  sent  a  secret  mes- 
sage by  counsell  of  Banquho  to  Makbeth,  commanding  him  to  abide  at  Inchcuthill, 
till  he  heard  from  him  some  other  newes.  In  the  meane  time  Duncane  fell  in  fained 
communication  with  Sueno,  as  though  he  would  haue  yeelded  vp  the  castell  into  his 
hands,  vnder  certeine  conditions,  and  this  did  he  to  driue  time,  and  to  put  his  eni- 
mies out  of  all  suspicion  of  anie  enterprise  ment  against  them,  till  all  things  were 
brought  to  passe  that  might  serue  for  the  purpose.     At  length,  when  they  were  fallen 

at  a  point  for  rendring  vp  the  hold,  Duncane  offered  to  send  foorth  of  the 

*  *  castell  into  the  campe  greate  prouision  of  vittels  to  refresh  the  armie, 
which  offer  was  gladlie  accepted  of  the  Danes,  for  that  they  had  beene  in  great 
penurie  of  sustenance  manie  dales  before. 

*  The  Scots  heerevpon  tooke  the  iuice  of  mekilwoort  berries,  and  mixed 
*     *  the  same  in  their  ale  and  bread,  sending  it  thus  spiced  &  confectioned,  in 

great  abundance  vnto  their  enimies.  They  reioising  that  they  had  got  meate  and 
drinke  sufficient  to  satisfie  their  bellies,  fell  to  eating  and  drinking  after  such  greedie 
wise,  that  it  seemed  they  strouc  who  might  deuoure  and  swallow  vp  most,  till  the 
operation  of  the  berries  spread  in  such  sort  through  all  the  parts  of  their  bodies,  that 
they  were  in  the  end  brought  into  a  fast  dead  sleepe,  that  in  manner  it  was  vnpossible 
to  awake  them.  Then  foorthwith  Duncane  sent  vnto  Makbeth,  commanding  him 
with  all  diligence  to  come  and  set  vpon  the  enimies,  being  in  easie  point  to  be  ouer- 
come.  Makbeth  making  no  delaie,  came  with  his  people  to  the  place,  where  his 
enimies  were  lodged,  and  first  killing  the  watch,  afterwards  entered  the  campe,  and 
made  such  slaughter  on  all  sides  without  anie  resistance,  that  it  was  a  woonderfull 
matter  to  behold,  for  the  Danes  were  so  heauie  of  sleepe,  that  the  most  part  of  them 
were  slaine  and  neuer  stirred  :  other  that  were  awakened  either  by  the  noise  or  other 
waies  foorth,  were  so  amazed  and  dizzie  headed  vpon  their  wakening,  that  they  were 
not  able  to  make  anie  defense :  so  that  of  the  whole  number  there  escaped  no  more 
but  onelie  Sueno  himselfe  and  ten  other  persons,  by  whose  heipe  he  got  to  his  ships 
lieng  at  rode  in  the  mouth  of  Taie. 

*The  most  part  of  the  mariners,  when  they  heard  what  plentie  of  meate  and 
drinke  the  Scots  had  sent  vnto  the  campe,  came  from  the  sea  thither  to  be  partakers 
thereof,  and  so  were  slaine  amongst  their  fellowes :  by  meanes  whereof  when  Sueno 
I>erceiued  how  through  lacke  of  mariners  he  should  not  be  able  to  conueie  awaie  his 
nauie,  he  furnished  one  ship  throughlie  with  such  as  were  left,  and  in  the  same 
sailed  backe  into  Norwaie,  cursing  the  time  that  he  set  forward  on  this  infortunate 
ioumie.  The  other  ships  which  he  left  behind  him,  within  three  daies  after  his  de- 
parture from  thence,  were  tossed  so  togither  by  violence  of  an  east  wind,  that  beating 
and  rushing  one  against  another,  they  sunke  there,  and  lie  in  the  same  place  euen 
vnto  these  daies,  to  the  great  danger  of  other  such  ships  as  come  on  that  coast :  for 


HO  UNSHED.  363 

being  couered  with  the  floud  when  the  tide  commeth,  at  the  ebbing  againe  of  the 
same,  some  part  of  them  appeere  aboue  water. 

*The  place  where  thcT  Danish  vessels  were  thus  lost,  is  yet  called  Drownelow 
sands.  This  ouerthrow  receiued  in  manner  afore  said  by  Sueno,  was  verie  displeas* 
ant  to  him  and  his  people,  as  should  appeere,  in  that  it  was  a  custome  manie  yeeres 
after,  that  no  knights  were  made  in  Norwaie,  except  they  were  first  sworne  to  reuenge 
the  slaughter  of  their  countriemen  and  friends  thus  slaine  in  Scotland.  The  Scots 
hauing  woone  so  notable  a  victorie,  after  they  had  gathered  &  divided  the  spoile  of 
the  field,  caused  solemne  processions  to  be  made  in  all  places  of  the  realme,  and 
thanks  to  be  giuen  to  almightie  God,  that  had  sent  them  so  faire  a  day  ouer  their 
enimies.  But  whitest  the  people  were  thus  at  their  processions,  woord  was  brought 
that  a  new  fleet  of  Danes  was  arriued  at  Kingcome,  sent  thither  by  Canute  king  of 
England,  in  reuenge  of  his  brother  Suenos  ouerthrow.  To  resist  these  enimies, 
which  were  alreadie  landed,  and  busie  in  spoiling  the  countrie;  Makbeth  and  Ban- 
quho  were  sent  with  the  kings  authoritie,  who  hauing  with  them  a  conuenient  power, 
incountred  the  enimies,  slue  part  of  them,  and  chased  the  other  to  their  ships.  They 
that  escaped  and  got  once  to  their  ships,  obteined  of  Makbeth  for  a  great 
summe  of  gold,  that  such  of  their  friends  as  were  slaine  at  this  last  bick-  '  ' 
ering,  might  be  buried  in  saint  Colmes  Inch.  In  memorie  whereof,  manie  old  sepul- 
tures are  yet  in  the  said  Inch,  there  to  be  seene  grauen  with  the  armes  of  the  Danes, 
as  the  maner  of  burieng  noble  men  still  is,  and  heeretofore  hath  beene  vsed. 

*  A  peace  was  also  concluded  at  the  same  time  betwixt  the  Danes  and  Scotishmen, 
ratified  (as  some  haue  written)  in  this  wise:  That  from  thencefoorth  the  Danes 
should  neuer  come  into  Scotland  to  make  anie  warres  against  the  Scots  by  anie 
maner  of  meanes.  And  these  were  the  warres  that  Duncane  had  with  forren  eni- 
mies, in  the  seventh  yeere  of  his  reigne.     Shortlie  after  happened  a  strange  and~^ 

1  vncouth  woonder,  which  afterward  was  the  cause  of  much  trouble  in  the  realme  of 
Scotland,  as  ye  shall  after  heare.     It  fortuned  as  Makbeth  and  Banquho  ioumied 
towards  Fores,  where  the  king  then    laie,  they  went  sporting  by  the 
waie  togither  without  other  companie,  saue  onelie  themselues,  passing     *    ' 
thorough  the  woods  and  fields,  when  suddenlie  in  the  middest  of  a  laund,  there  met 
them  three  women  in  strange  and  wild  apparell,  resembling  creatures  of  elder  world, 
whome  when  they  attentiuelie  beheld,  woondering  much  at  the  sight,  the  first  of  them 
spake  and  said ;  All  haile  Makbeth,  thane  of  Glammis  (for  he  had  latelie  entered 
into  that  dignitie  and  office  by  the  death  of  his  father  Sinell.)   The  second 
of  them  said ;    Haile  Makbeth  thane  of  Cawder.     But  the  third  said ;     ' 
All  haile  Makbeth  that  heereafter  shalt  be  king  of  Scotland. 

*  Then  Banquho ;  What  manner  of  women  (saith  he)  are  you,  that  seeme  so  little 
fauourable  vnto  me,  whereas  to  my  fellow  heere,  besides  high  offices,  ye  assigne  also 
the  kingdome,  appointing  foorth  nothing  for  me  at  all  ?  Yes  (saith  the  first  of  them) 
we  promise  greater  benefits  vnto  thee,  than  vnto  him,  for  he  shall  reigne  in  deed,  but 
with  an  vnluckie  end :  neither  shall  he  leaue  anie  issue  behind  him  to  succeed  in  his 
place,  where  contrarilie  thou  in  deed  shalt  not  reigne  at  all,  but  of  thee  those  shall 
be  borne  which  shall  gouem  the  Scotish  kingdome  by  long  order  of  continuall 
descent.  Herewith  the  foresaid  women  vanished  immediatlie  out  of  their  sight. 
This  was  reputed  at  the  first  but  some  vaine  fantasticall  illusion  by  Mack- 

beth  and  Banquho,  insomuch  that  Banquho  would  call  Mackbeth  in  iest,     '     ' 
king  of  Scotland ;  and  Mackbeth  againe  would  call  him  in  sport  likewise,  the  fathet 
of  manie  kings.     But  afterwards  the  common  opinion  was,  that  these  women  were 


364  APPENDIX. 

either  the  weird  sisters,  that  is  (as  ye  would  say)  the  goddesses  of  destinie,  or  else 
some  nymphs  or  feiries,  indued  with  knowledge  of  prophesie  by  their  necromanticall 
science,  bicause  euerie  thing  came  to  passe  as  they  had  spoken.  For  shortlie  after, 
the  thane  of  Cawder  being  condemned  at  Fores  of  treason  against  the  king  com- 
mitted ;  his  lands,  liuings,  and  offices  were  giuen  of  the  kings  liberalitie  to  Mackbeth. 

*  The  same  night  after,  at  supper,  Banquho  iested  with  him  and  said ;  Now  Mack- 
beth thou  hast  obteined  those  things  which  the  two  former  sisters  prophesied,  there 
remaineth  onelie  for  thee  to  purchase  that  which  the  third  said  should  come  to  passe. 
Wherevpon  Mackbeth  reuoluing  the  thing  in  his  mind,  began  euen  then  to  deuise 
how  he  might  atteine  to  the  kingdome :  but  yet  he  thought  with  himselfe  that  he 
must  tarie  a  time,  which  should  aduance  him  thereto  (by  the  diuine  prouidence)  as  it 
had  come  to  passe  in  his  former  preferment.     But  shortlie  after  it  chanced  that  king 

Duncane,  hauing  two  sonnes  by  his  wife  which  was  the  daughter  of  Siward 
*    *   '        earle  of  Northumberland,  he  made  the  elder  of  them  called  Malcolme 

prince  of  Cumberland,  as  it  were  thereby  to  appoint  him  his  successor 
'  '  '  in  the  kingdome,  immediatlie  after  his  deceasse.  Mackbeth  sore  troubled 
herewith,  for  that  he  saw  by  this  means  his  hope  sore  hindered  (where,  by  the  old 
lawes  of  the  realme,  the  ordinance  was,  that  if  he  that  should  succeed  were  not  of 
able  age  to  take  the  charge  vpon  himselfe,  he  that  was  next  of  bloud  vnto  him 
should  be  admitted)  he  began  to  take  counsell  how  he  might  vsurpe  the  kingdome 
by  force,  hauing  a  iust  quarell  so  to  doo  (as  he  tooke  the  matter)  for  that  Duncane 
did  what  in  him  lay  to  defraud  him  of  all  maner  of  title  and  claime,  which  he  might 
in  time  to  come,  pretend  vnto  the  crowne. 

*  The  woords  of  the  three  weird  sisters  also  (of  whom  before  ye  haue  heard)  greatlie 
i    incouraged  him  herevnto,  but  speciallie  his  wife  lay  sore  vpon  him  to  attempt  the 

thing,  as  she  that  was  verie  ambitious,  burning  in  vnquenchable  desire  to  beare  the 

name  of  a  queene.  At  length  therefore,  communicating  his  purposed  intent  with  his 
^trustie  friends,  amongst  whome  Banquho  was  the  chiefest,  vpon  confidence  of  their 

promised  aid,  he  slue  the  king  at  Enuerns,  or  (as  some  say)  at  Botgosuane,  in  the 
( sixt  yeare  of  his  reigne.     Then  hauing  a  companie  about  him  of  such  as  he  had 

made  priuie  to  his  enterprise,  he  caused  himselfe  to  be  proclamed  king,  and  foorth- 

with  went  vnto  Scone,  where  (by  common  consent)  he  receiued  the  in- 
i       II  iv  31.  *  \   ]  J 

L.       »     '     *      uesture  of  the  kingdome  according  to  the  accustomed  maner.     The  bodie 

of  Duncane  was  first  conueied  vnto  Elgine,  &  there  buried  in  kinglie  wise ;  but 

afterwards  it  was  remoued  and  conueied  vnto  Colmekill,  and  there  laid  in  a  sepulture 

amongst  his  predecessors,  in  the  yeare  after  the  birth  of  our  Sauiour, 

"•*'''^'       1046. 

*  Malcolme  Cammore  and  Donald  Bane  the  sons  of  king  Duncane,  for  feare  of 
their  Hues  (which  they  might  well  know  that  Mackbeth  would  seeke  to  bring  to  end 
for  his  more  sure  confirmation  in  the  estate)  fled  into  Cumberland,  where  Malcolme 
remained,  till  time  that  saint  Edward  the  sonne  of  Etheldred  recouered  the  do- 
minion of  England  from  the  Danish  power,  the  which  Edward  receuied  Malcolme 
by  way  of  most  friendlie  enterteinment :  but  Donald  passed  ouer  into  Ireland,  where 
he  was  tenderlie  cherished  by  the  king  of  that  land.  Mackbeth,  after  the  departure 
thus  of  Duncanes  sonnes,  vsed  great  liberalitie  towards  the  nobles  of  the  realme, 
thereby  to  win  their  fauour,  and  when  he  saw  that  no  man  went  about  to  trouble 
him,  he  set  his  whole  intention  to  mainteine  iustice,  and  to  punish  all  enormities  and 
abuses,  which  had  chanced  through  the  feeble  and  sloulhfull  administration  of  Dun- 
cane.* (pp.  1 69-1 7 1.) 


HOLINSHED.  365 

[And  so  vigorously  did  Macbeth  carry  out  his  reforms,  that  *  these  theeues,  barret- 
tors,  and  other  oppressors  of  the  innocent  people  *....*  were  streight  waics  appre- 
hended by  armed  men,  and  trussed  vp  in  halters  on  gibbets,  according  as  they  had 
iustlie  deserued.  The  residue  of  misdooers  that  were  left,  were  punished  and  tamed 
in  such  sort,  that  manie  yenres  after  all  theft  and  reiffings  were  little  heard  of,  the 
people  inioiengthe  blissefull  benefit  of  good  peace  and  tranquilitie.  Mackbeth  shew- 
ing himselfe  thus  a  most  diligent  punisher  of  all  iniuries  and  wrongs  attempted  by 
anie  disordered  persons  within  his  realme,  was  accounted  the  sure  defense  and  buckler 
of  innocent  people ;  and  hereto  he  also  applied  his  whole  indeuor,  to  cause  yoong 
men  to  exercise  themselues  in  vertuous  maners,  and  men  of  the  church  to  attend 
their  diuine  seruice  according  to  their  vocations. 

*  He  caused  to  be  slaine  sundrie  thanes,  as  of  Cathnes,  Sutherland,  Stranaueme, 
and  Ros,  because  through  them  and  their  seditious  attempts,  much  trouble  dailie  rose 
in  the  realme.*  ....  *  To  be  briefe,  such  were  the  woorthie  dooings  and  princelie 
acts  of  this  Mackbeth  in  the  administration  of  the  realme,  that  if  he  had  atteined 
therevnto  by  rightfull  means,  and  continued  in  vprightnesse  of  iustice  as  he  began, 
till  the  end  of  his  reigne,  he  might  well  haue  beene  numbred  amongest  the  most 
noble  princes  that  anie  where  had  reigned.  He  made  manie  holesome  laws  and 
statutes  for  the  publike  weale  of  his  subiects.*  Holinshed  here  *  sets  foorth  accord- 
ing to  Hector  Boetius'  some  of  the  laws  made  by  Macbeth,  and  for  one  of  them  the 
king  certainly  deserves  a  handsome  notice  from  some  of  our  most  advanced  reform- 
ers of  the  present  day :  *  The  eldest  daughter  shall  inherit  hir  fathers  lands,  as  well 
as  the  eldest  sonne  should,  if  the  father  leaue  no  sonnc  behind  him.*] 

*  These  and  the  like  commendable  lawes  Makbeth  caused  to  be  put  as  then  in  vse, 
goueming  the  realme  for  the  space  of  ten  yeares  in  equall  iustice.  But  this  was  but 
a  counterfet  zeale  of  equitie  shewed  by  him,  partlie  against  his  naturall  inclination 
to  purchase  thereby  the  fauour  of  the  people.  Shortlie  after,  he  began  to  shew  what 
he  was,  in  stead  of  equitie  practising  crueltie.  For  the  pricke  of  conscience  (as  it 
chanceth  euer  in  tyrants,  and  such  as  atteine  to  anie  estate  by  vnrighteous 

means)  caused  him  euer  to  feare,  least  he  should  be  serued  of  the  same     '      ' 
cup  as  he  had  minbtred  to  his  predecessor.     The  woords  also  of  the  three  weird  sis- 
ters, would  not  out  of  his  mind,  which  as  they  promised  him  the  kingdome,  so  like- 
wise did  they  promise  it  at  the  same  time  vnto  the  posteritie  of  Banquho. 
He  willed  therefore  the  same  Banquho  with  his  sonne  named  Fleance,  to        »     »   • 
come  to  a  supper  that  he  had  prepared  for  them,  which  was  in  deed,  as  he  had  deuised, 
present  death  at  the  hands  of  certeine  murderers,  whom  he  hired  to  execute  that 
deed,  appointing  them  to  meete  with  the  same  Banquho  and  his  sonne 
without  the  palace,  as  they  returned  to  their  lodgings,  and  there  to  slea        »  »  3  • 
them,  so  that  he  would  not  haue  his  house  slandered,  but  that  in  time  to  come  he 
might  cleare  himselfe,  if  anie  thing  were  laid  to  his  charge  vpon  anie  suspicion  that 
might  arise. 

*  It  chanced  yet  by  the  benefit  of  the  darke  night,  that  though  the  father  were 
slaine,  the  sonne  yet  by  the  helpe  of  almightie  God  reseruing  him  to  better  fortune, 
escaped  that  danger :  and  afterwards  hauing  some  inkeling  (by  the  admonition  of 
some  friends  which  he  had  in  the  court)  how  his  life  was  sought  no  lesse  than  his 
fathers,  who  was  slaine  not  by  chancemedlie  (as  by  the  handling  of  the  matter  Mak- 
beth woould  haue  had  it  to  appeare)  but  euen  vpon  a  prepensed  deuise :  wherevpon 
to  auoid  further  pcrill  he  fled  into  Wales.*  (p.  172.) 

[The  old  historian  here  makes  a  digression  in  order  to  *  rehearse  the  originall  line 

31  ♦ 


366  APPENDIX. 

of  those  kings,  which  haue  descended  from  the  foresaid  Banquho.'  After  what  has 
been  cited  at  I,  iii,  67,  and  III,  iii,  18,  it  is  scarcely  worth  while  here  to  note  more 
than  that  (according  to  Holinshed)  Fleance*s  great-grandson  Alexander  had  two 
sons,  from  t)ne  of  whom  descended  *  the  earles  of  Leuenox  and  Demlie,'  and  from 
the  other  came  Walter  Steward,  who  *  maried  Margerie  Bruce  daughter  to  king 
Robert  Bruce,  by  whome  he  had  issue  king  Robert  the  second  of  that  name' 
(p.  173),  'the  first*  (says  French,  p.  291)  *of  the  dynasty  of  Stuart,  which  con- 
tinued to  occupy  the  throne  until  the  son  of  Mary  Queen  of  Scots,  James,  the  sixth 
of  the  name,  was  called  to  the  throne  of  England,  as  James  the  First.'] 

'  But  to  retume  vnto  Makbeth,  in  continuing  the  historie,  and  to  begin  where  I 
lefl,  ye  shall  vnderstand  that  after  the  contriued  slaughter  of  Banquho,  nothing  pros- 
pered  with  the  foresaid  Makbeth :  for  in  maner  euerie  man  began  to  doubt  his  owne 
life,  and  durst  vnneth  appeare  in  the  kings  presence ;  and  euen  as  there  were  manie 
that  stood  in  feare  of  him,  so  likewise  stood  he  in  feare  of  manie,  in  such  sort  that 
he  began  to  make  those  awaie  by  one  surmised  cauillation  or  other,  whome  he 
thought  most  able  to  worke  him  anie  displeasure. 

'At  length  he  found  such  sweetnesse  by  putting  his  nobles  thus  to  death,  that  his 
earnest  thirst  after  bloud  in  this  behalfe  might  in  no  wise  be  satisfied :  for  ye  must 
consider  he  wan  double  profite  (as  hee  thought)  hereby :  for  first  they  were  rid  out 
of  the  way  whome  he  feared,  and  then  againe  his  coffers  were  inriched  by  their 
goods  which  were  forfeited  to  his  vse,  whereby  he  might  the  better  mainteine  a  gard 
of  armed  men  about  him  to  defend  his  person  from  iniurie  of  them  whom  he  had  in 
anie  suspicion.  Further,  to  the  end  he  might  the  more  cruellie  oppresse  his  subiects 
with  all  tyrantlike  wrongs,  he  builded  a  strong  castell  on  the  top  of  an  hie  hill  called 
Dunsinane,  situate  in  Gowrie,  ten  miles  from  Perth,  on  such  a  proud  height,  that 
standing  there  aloft,  a  man  might  behold  well  neere  all  the  countries  of  Angus, 
Fife,  Stermond,  and  Emedale,  as  it  were  lieng  vnderneath  him.  This  castell  then 
being  founded  on  the  top  of  that  high  hill,  put  the  realme  to  great  charges  before  it 
was  finished,  for  all  the  stuffe  necessarie  to  the  building,  could  not  be  brought  vp 
without  much  toile  and  businesse.  But  Makbeth  being  once  determined  to  haue  the 
worke  go  forward,  caused  the  thanes  of  each  shire  within  the  realme,  to  come  and 
helpe  towards  that  building,  each  man  his  course  about. 

*  At  the  last,  when  the  tume  fell  vnto  Makduffe  thane  of  Fife  to  builde  his  part, 
he  sent  workemen  with  all  needfull  prouision,  and  commanded  them  to  shew  such 
diligence  in  euerie  behalfe,  that  no  occasion  might  bee  giuen  for  the  king  to  find 
fault  with  him,  in  that  he  came  not  himselfe  as  other  had  doone,  which  he  refused 
to  doo,  for  doubt  least  the  king  bearing  him  (as  he  partlie  vnderstood)  no  great  good 
will,  would  laie  violent  handes  vpon  him,  as  he  had  doone  vpon  diuerse  other. 
Shortly  after,  Makbeth  comming  to  behold  how  the  worke  went  forward,  and 
bicause  he  found  not  Makduffe  there,  he  was  sore  offended,  and  said ;  I  perceiue 
this  man  will  neuer  obeie  my  commandements,  till  he  be  ridden  with  a  snaffle :  but 
I  shall  prouide  well  inough  for  him.  Neither  could  he  afterwards  abide  to  looke 
vpon  the  said  Makduffe,  either  for  that  he  thought  his  puissance  ouer  great ;  either 
else  for  that  he  had  learned  of  certeine  wizzards,  in  whose  words  he  put  great  con- 
fidence (for  that  the  prophesie  had  happened  so  right,  which  the  three  faries  or 
weird  sisters  had  declared  vnto  him)  how  that  he  ought  to  take  heed  of  Makdufie, 
who  in  time  to  come  should  seeke  to  destroie  him. 

*  And  suerlie  herevpon  had  he  put  Makduffe  to  death,  but  that  a  certeine  witch, 
w^home  hee  had  in  great  trust,  had  told  that  he  should  neuer  be  slaine  with  man 


HO  UNSHED.  367 

borne  of  anie  woman,  nor  vanquished  till  the  wood  of  Bemane  came  to  „ 
the  castell  of  Dunsinane.  By  this  prophesie  Makbeth  put  all  feare  out  '  ' 
of  his  heart,  supposing  he  might  doo  what  he  would,  without  anie  feare  to  be  pun- 
ished for  the  same,  for  by  the  one  pro'phesie  he  beleeued  it  was  vnpossible  for  anie 
man  to  vanquish  him,  and  by  the  other  vnpossible  to  slea  him.  This  vaine  hope 
caused  him  to  doo  manie  outragious  things,  to  the  greeuous  oppression  of  his  sub- 
iects.  At  length  MakduiTe,  to  auoid  perill  of  life,  purposed  with  himselfe  to  passe 
into  England,  to  procure  Malcolme  Cammore  to  claime  the  crowne  of  Scotland. 
But  this  was  not  so  secretlie  deuised  by  MakdufTe,  but  that  Makbeth  had  knowledge 
giuen  him  thereof:  for  kings  (as  is  said)  haue  sharpe  sight  like  vnto  Lynx,  and  long 

ears  like  vnto  Midas.     For  Makbeth  had  in  euerie  noble  mans  house  one 

III  iv  X31. 
slie  fellow  or  other  in  fee  with  him,  to  reueale  all  that  was  said  or  doone 

within  the  same,  by  which  slight  he  oppressed  the  most  part  of  the  nobles  of  his 
realme. 

'  Immediatlie  then,  being  aduertised  whereabout  MakdufTe  went,  he  came  hastily 
with  a  great  power  into  Fife,  and  foorthwith  besieged  the  castell  where  MakdufTe 
dwelled,  trusting  to  haue  found  him  therein.  They  that  kept  the  house,  without  anie 
resistance  opened  the  gates,  and  suffered  him  to  enter,  mistrusting  none  euill.  But 
neuerthelesse  Makbeth  most  cruellie  caused  the  wife  and  children  of  MakdufTe,  with 
all  other  whom  he  found  in  that  castell,  to  be  slaine.  Also  he  confbcated  the  goods 
of  MakdufTe,  proclaimed  him  traitor,  and  confined  him  out  of  all  the  parts  of  his 
realme ;  but  Makduffe  was  alreadie  escaped  out  of  danger,  and  gotten 
into  England  vnto  Malcolme  Cammore,  to  trie  what  purchase  hee  might  ' 
m^B  by  means  of  his  support  to  reuenge  the  slaughter  so  cruellie  executed  on  his 
lt^%  his  children,  and  other  friends.  At  his  comming  vnto  Malcolme,  he  declared 
into  what  great  miserie  the  estate  of  Scotland  was  brought,  by  the  detestable  cruel- 
ties exercised  by  the  tyrant  Makbeth,  hauing  committed  manie  horrible  slaughters 
and  murders,  both  as  well  of  the  nobles  as  commons,  for  the  which  he  was  hated 
right  mortallie  of  all  his  liege  people,  desiring  nothing  more  than  to  be  deliuered  of 
that  intollerable  and  most  heauie  yoke  of  thraldome,  which  they  susteined  at  such 
a  caitifes  hands. 

*■  Malcolme  hearing  Makduffes  woords,  which  he  vttered  in  verie  lamentable  sort, 
for  meere  compassion  and  verie  ruth  that  pearsed  his  sorowfuU  hart,  bewailing  the 
miserable  state  of  his  countrie,  he  fetched  a  deepe  sigh ;  which  Makdufie  perceiuing, 
began  to  fall  most  eamestlie  in  hand  with  him,  to  enterprise  the  deliuering  of  the 
Scotish  people  out  of  the  hands  of  so  cruel  1  and  bloudie  a  tyrant,  as  Makbeth  by 
too  manie  plaine  experiments  did  shew  himselfe  to  be :  which  was  an  easie  matter 
for  him  to  bring  to  passe,  considering  not  onelie  the  good  title  he  had,  but  also  the 
earnest  desire  of  the  people  to  haue  some  occasion  ministred,  whereby  they  might 
be  reuenged  of  those  notable  iniuries,  which  they  dailie  susteined  by  the  outragious 
crueltie  of  Makbeths  misgouemance.  Though  Malcolme  was  verie  sorowfuU  for 
the  oppression  of  his  countriemen  the  Scots,  in  maner  as  MakdufTe  had  declared ; 
yet  doubting  whether  he  were  come  as  one  that  ment  vnfeinedlie  as  he  spake,  or  else 
as  sent  from  Makbeth  to  betraie  him,  he  thought  to  haue  some  further  triall,  and 
therevpon  dissembling  his  mind  at  the  first,  he  answered  as  followeth. 

*  I  am  trulie  verie  sorie  for  the  miserie  chanced  to  my  countrie  of  Scotland,  but 
though  I  haue  neuer  so  great  affection  to  relieue  the  same,  yet  by  reason  of  certeine 
incurable  vices,  which  reigne  in  me,  I  am  nothing  meet  thereto.  First,  such  immod- 
erate lust  and  voluptuous  sensualitie  (the  abhominable  founteine  of  all  vices)  followeth 


\ 


368  APPENDIX. 

me,  that  if  I  were  made  king  of  Scots,  I  should  seeke  to  defloure  your  maids  and 

matrones,  in  such  wise  that  mine  intemperancie  should  be  more  importable  vnto  you 

than  the  bloudie  tyrannie  of  Makbeth  now  is.     Heereunto  Makduffe  answered :  this 

suerly  is  a  verie  euill  fault,  for  manie  noble  princes  and  kings  haue  lost  both  liues  and 

kingdomes  for  the  same;  neuerthelesse  there  are  women  enow  in  Scotland,  and 

therefore  follow  my  counsel!.  Make  thy  selfe  kin?,  and  I  shall  conueie 
IV  iii  7X»  . 

'     '     *    the  matter  so  wiselie,  that  thou  shalt  be  so  satisfied  at  thy  pleasure  in  such 

[V,  iii,  79.    secret  wise,  that  no  man  shall  be  aware  thereof. 

*  Then  said  Malcolme,  I  am  also  the  most  auaritious  creature  on  the 

earth,  so  that  if  I  were  king,  I  should  seeke  so  manie  waies  to  get  lands  and  goods, 

that  I  would  slea  the  most  part  of  all  the  nobles  of  Scotland  by  surmised  accusations, 

to  the  end  I  might  inioy  their  lands,  goods,  and  possessions ;  and  therefore  to  shew 

you  what  mischiefe  may  insue  on  you  through  mine  vnsatiable  couetousnes,  I  will 

rehearse  vnto  you  a  fable.     There  was  a  fox  hauing  a  sore  place  on  him  oucrset  with 

a  swarme  of  flies,  that  continuallie  sucked  out  hir  bloud :  and  when  one  that  came 

by  and  saw  this  manner,  demanded  whether  she  would  haue  the  flies  driuen  beside 

hir,  she  answered  no :  for  if  these  flies  that  are  alreadie  full,  and  by  reason  thereof 

sucke  not  verie  egerlie,  should  be  chased  awaie,  other  that  are  emptie  and  fellie  an 

hungred,  should  light  in  their  places,  and  sucke  out  the  residue  of  my  bloud  farre 

more  to  my  greeuance  than  these,  which  now  being  satisfied  doo  not  much  annoie 

me.     Therefore  saith  Malcolme,  suflbr  me  to  remaine  where  I  am,  least  if  I  atteine 

to  the  regiment  of  your  realme,  mine  inquenchable  auarice  may  prooue  such ;  that 

ye  would  thinke  the  displeasures  which  now  grieue  you,  should  seeme  easie  in  na^ct 

of  the  vnmeasurable  outrage,  which  might  insue  through  my  comming  among^ 

*  Makdufl*e  to  this  made  answer,  how  it  was  a  far  woorse  fault  than  the  other 
auarice  is  the  root  of  all  mischiefe,  and  for  that  crime  the  most  part  of  our  kings 
haue  beene  slaine  and  brought  to  their  finall  end.  Yet  notwithstanding  follow  my 
counsell,  and  take  vpon  thee  the  crowne.  There  is  gold  and  riches  inough  in  Scot- 
land to  satisfie  thy  greedie  desire.  Then  said  Malcolme  againe,  I  am  furthermore 
inclined  to  dissimulation,  telling  of  leasings,  and  all  other  kinds  of  deceit,  so  that  I 
naturallie  reioise  in  nothing  so  much,  as  to  betraie  &  deceiue  such  as  put  anie  trust  or 
confidence  in  my  woords.  Then  sith  there  is  nothing  that  more  becommeth  a  prince 
than  constancie,  veritie,  truth,  and  iustice,  with  the  other  laudable  fellowship  of  those 
faire  and  noble  vertues  which  are  comprehended  onelie  in  soothfastnesse,  and  that 
lieng  vtterlie  ouerthroweth  the  same;  you  see  how  vnable  I  am  to  gouerne  anie 
prouince  or  region :  and  therefore  sith  you  haue  remedies  to  cloke  and  hide  all  the 
rest  of  my  other  vices,  I  praie  you  find  shift  to  cloke  this  vice  amongst  the  residue. 

*  Then  said  Makduffe :  This  yet  is  the  woorst  of  all,  and  there  I  leaue  thee,  and 
therefore  saie;  Oh  ye  vnhappie  and  miserable  Scotishmen,  which  are  thus  scourged 
with  so  manie  and  sundrie  calamities,  ech  one  aboue  other !  Ye  haue  one  cui-ssed 
and  wicked  tyrant  that  now  reigneth  ouer  you,  without  anie  right  or  title,  oppressing 
you  with  his  most  bloudie  crueltie.  This  other  that  hath  the  right  to  the  crowne,  is 
so  replet  with  the  inconstant  behauiour  and  manifest  vices  ai  Englishmen,  that  he  is 
nothing  woorthie  to  inioy  it:  for  by  his  owne  confession  he  is  not  onelie  auaritious, 
and  giucn  to  vnsatiable  lust,  but  so  false  a  traitor  withall,  that  no  trust  is  to  be  had  vnto 
anie  woord  he  speaketh.  Adieu  Scotland,  for  now  I  account  my  selfe  a  banished 
man  for  euer,  without  comfort  or  consolation :  and  with  those  woords  the  brackish 
teares  trickled  downe  his  cheekes  verie  abundantlie. 

*  At  the  last,  when  he  was  readie  to  depart,  Malcolme  tooke  him  by  the  slccue,  and 


9 

naoect 
terJ^B^ 


".V 


HO  UNSHED.  369 

said :  Be  of  good  comfort  Makduffe,  for  I  haue  none  of  these  vices  before  remem- 
bred,  but  haue  iested  with  thee  in  this  manner,  onelie  to  prooue  thy  mind:  for  diuerse 
times  heeretofore  hath  Makbeth  sought  by  this  manner  of  meanes  to  bring  me  into 
his  hands,  but  the  more  slow  I  haue  shewed  my  selfe  to  condescend  to  thy  motion 
and  request,  the  more  diligence  shall  I  vse  in  accomplishing  the  same.  Incontinentlie 
heereupon  they  imbraced  ech  other,  and  promising  to  be  faithful!  the  one  to  the  other, 
they  fell  in  consultation  how  they  might  best  prouide  for  all  their  businesse,  to  bring 
the  same  to  good  eflffect.  Soone  after,  Makduffe  repairing  to  the  borders  of  Scotland, 
addressed  his  letters  with  secret  dispatch  vnto  the  nobles  of  the  realme,  declaring 
how  Malcolme  was  confederat  with  him,  to  come  hastilie  into  Scotland  to  claime 
the  crowne,  and  therefore  he  required  them,  sith  he  was  right  inheritor  thereto,  to  assist 
him  with  their  powers  to  recouer  the  same  out  of  the  hands  of  the  wrongful!  vsurper. 
'  In  the  meane  time,  Malcolme  purchased  such  fauor  at  king  Edwards  hands,  that 
old  Siward  earle  of  Northumberland,  was  appointed  with  ten  thousand  men  to  go 
with  him  into  Scotland,  to  support  him  in  this  enterprise,  for  recouerie  of  his  right. 
After  these  newes  were  spread  abroad  in  Scotland,  the  nobles  drew  into  two  seuerall 
factions,  the  one  taking  part  with  Makbeth,  and  the  other  with  Malcolme.  Heere> 
upon  insued  oftentimes  sundrie  bickerings,  &  diuerse  light  skirmishes :  for  those  that 
were  of  Malcolmes  side,  would  not  leopard  to  ioine  with  their  enimies  in  a  pight 
field,  till  his  comming  out  of  England  to  their  support.  But  after  that  Makbeth  per- 
ceiued  his  enimies  power  to  increase,  by  such  aid  as  came  to  them  foorth  of  Eng- 
land with  his  aduersdrie  Malcolme,  he  recoiled  backe  into  Fife,  there  purposing  to 
abide  in  campe  fortified,  at  the  castell  of  Dunsinane,  and  to  fight  with  his  enimies, 
if  tjfly  ment  to  pursue  him ;  howbeit  some  of  his  friends  aduised  him,  that  it  should 
be  best  for  him,  either  to  make  some  agreement  with  Malcolme,  or  else  to  flee  with 
all  speed  into  the  lies,  and  to  take  his  treasure  with  him,  to  the  end  he  might  wage 
sundrie  great  princes  of  the  realme  to  take  his  part,  &  reteine  strangers,  in  whome 

he  might  better  trust  than  in  his  owne  subiects,  which  stale  dailie  from 

V  iv  zi 
him  :  but  he  had  such  confidence  in  his  prophesies,  that  he  beleeued  he      '     '     ' 

should  neuer  be  vanquished,  till  Bimane  wood  were  brought  to  Dunsinane;  nor  yet 
to  be  slaine  with  anie  man,  that  should  be  or  was  borne  of  anie  woman. 
*  Malcolme  following  hastilie  after  Makbeth,  came  the  night  before  the 
battell  vnto  Bimane  wood,  and  when  his  armie  had  rested  a  while  there  ' 
to  refresh  them,  he  commanded  euerie  man  to  get  a  bough  of  some  tree  or  other  of 
that  wood  in  his  hand,  as  big  as  he  might  beare,  and  to  march  foorth  therewith  in 
such  wise,  that  on  the  next  morrow  they  might  come  closelie  and  without  sight  in 
this  manner  within  viewe  of  his  enimies.  On  the  morrow  when  Makbeth  beheld 
them  comming  in  this  sort,  he  first  maruelled  what  the  matter  ment,  but  in  the  end 
remembred  himselfe  that  the  prophesie  which  he  had  heard  long  before  that  time,  of 
the  comming  of  Bimane  wood  to  Dunsinane  castell,  was  likelie  to  be  now  fulfilled. 
Neuerthelesise,  he  brought  his  men  in  order  of  battell,  and  exhorted  them  to  doo 
valiantlie,  howbeit  his  enimies  had  scarsely  cast  from  them  their  boughs,  when  Mak- 
beth perceiuing  their  numbers,  betooke  him  streict  to  flight,  whom  Makdufle  pursued 
with  great  hatred  euen  till  he  came  vnto  Lunfannaine,  where  Makbeth  perceiuing 
that  Makdufle  was  hard  at  his  backe,  leapt  beside  his  horsse,  saieng ;  Thou  traitor, 
what  meaneth  it  that  thou  shouldest  thus  in  vaine  follow  me  that  am  not  appointed 
to  be  slaine  by  anie  creature  that  is  home  of  a  woman,  come  on  therefore,  and  re- 
ceiue  thy  reward  which  thou  hast  deseraed  for  thy  paines,  and  therwithall  he  lifted 
vp  his  swoord  thinking  to  haue  slaine  him. 

Y 


370  APPENDIX, 

*  But  MakdufTe  quicklie  auoiding  from  his  horsse,  yer  he  came  at  him,  answered 
(with  his  naked  swoord  in  his  hand)  saieng :  It  is  true  Makbeth,  and  now  shall  thine 
insatiable  crueltie  haue  an  end,  for  I  am  euen  he  that  thy  wizzards  haue  told  thee 
of,  who  was  neuer  borne  of  my  mother,  but  ripped  out  of  her  wombe :  therewithall 
he  stept  vnto  him,  and  slue  him  in  the  place.     Then  cutting  his  head  from  his 

shoulders,  he  set  it  vpon  a  pole,  and  brought  it  vnto  Malcolme.  This 
*  *  was  the  end  of  Makbeth,  after  he  had  reigned  17  yeeres  ouer  the  Scot- 
ishmen.  In  the  beginning  of  his  reigne  he  accomplished  ihanie  woorthie  acts, 
verie  profitable  to  the  common- wealth,  (as  ye  haue  heard)  but  afterward  by  illusion 
of  the  diuell,  he  defamed  the  same  with  most  terrible  crueltie.  He  was  slaine  in 
the  yeere  of  the  incarnation  1057,  and  in  the  16  yeere  of  king  Edwards  reigne  ouer 
the  Englishmen. 

*  Malcolme  Cammore  thus  recouering  the  relme  (as  ye  haue  heard)  by  support  of 
king  Edward,  in  the  16  yeere  of  the  same  Edwards  reigne,  he  was  crowned  at  Scone 
the  25  day  of  Aprill,  in  the  yeere  of  our  Lord  1057.  Imraediatlie  after  his  corona- 
tion he  called  a  parlement  at  Forfair,  in  the  which  he  rewarded  them  with  lands 
and  liuings  that  had  assisted  him  against  Makbeth,  aduancing  them  to  fees  and 
offices  as  he  saw  cause,  &  commanded  that  speciallie  those  that  bare  the  surname  of 
anie  offices  or  lands,  should  haue  and  inioy  the  same.  He  created  manie  earles, 
lords,  barons,  and  knights.     Manie  of  them  that  before  were  thanes,  were  at  this 

time  made  earles,  as  Fife,  Menteth,  Atholl,  Leuenox,  Murrey,  Cathnes, 
V  viii  fx\  __„ 

'       *     '    Rosse,  and  Angus.     These  were  the  first  earles  that  haue  beene  heard 

of  amongst  the  Scotishmen,  (as  their  histories  doo  make  mention.)*  (pp.  174-176.) 

In  the  *fift  Chapter'  of  'the  eight  Booke  of  the  historic  of  England,*  p.  192, 
Shakespeare  found  the  account  of  the  death  of  young  Siward,  which  he  has  intro- 
duced in  Act  V : 

*  About  the  thirteenth  yeare  of  king  Edward  his  reigne  (as  some  write)  or  rather 
about  the  nineteenth  or  twentith  yeare,  as  should  appeare  by  the  Scotish  writers, 
Siward  the  noble  earle  of  Northumberland  with  a  great  power  of  horssemen  went 
into  Scotland,  and  in  battell  put  to  flight  Mackbeth  that  had  vsurped  the  crowne  of 
Scotland,  and  that  doone,  placed  Malcolme  surnamed  Camoir,  the  sonne  of  Dun- 
cane,  sometime  king  of  Scotland,  in  the  gouernement  of  that  realme,  who  afterward 
slue  the  said  Macbeth,  and  then  reigned  in  quiet.  Some  of  our  English  writers  say, 
that  this  Malcolme  was  king  of  Cumberland,  but  other  report  him  to  be  sonne  to  the 
king  of  Cumberland.  But  heere  is  to  be  noted,  that  if  Mackbeth  reigned  till  the 
yeare  1061,  and  was  then  slaine  by  Malcolme,  earle  Siward  was  not  at  that  battell; 
for  as  our  writers  doo  testifie,  he  died  in  the  yeare  1055,  which  was  in  the  yeare 
next  after  (as  the  same  writers  affirme)  that  he  vanquished  Mackbeth  in  fight,  and 
slue  manie  thousands  of  Scots,  and  all  those  Normans  which  (as  ye  haue  heard) 
were  withdrawen  into  Scotland,  when  they  were  driuen  out  of  England. 

*  It  is  recorded  also,  that  in  the  foresaid  battell,  in  which  earle  Siward  vanquished 
the  Scots,  one  of  Siwards  sonnes  chanced  to  be  slaine,  whereof  although  the  father 
had  good  cause  to  be  sorowfull,  yet  when  he  heard  that  he  died  of  a  wound  which 
he  had  receiued  in  fighting  stoutlie  in  the  forepart  of  his  bodie,  and  that  with  his 
face  towards  the  enimie,  he  greatlie  reioised  thereat,  to  heare  that  he  died  so  man- 
fuUie.  But  here  is  to  be  noted,  that  not  now,  but  a  little  before  (as  Henrie  Hunt, 
saith)  that  earle  Siward,  went  into  Scotland  himselfe  in  person,  he  sent  his  sonne 
with  an  armie  to  conquere  the  land,  whose  hap  was  there  to  be  slaine :  and  when 


SOURCE  OF  THE  PLOT.  37 1 

his  father  heard  the  newes,  he  demanded  whether  he  receiued  the  wound  whereof 

he  died,  in  the  forepart  of  the  bodie,  or  in  the  hinder  part :  and  when  it  was  told 

him  that  he  receiued  it  in  the  forepart ;  I  reioise  (saith  he)  euen  with  all    . 

V«  vlli.  JO* 
my  heart,  for  I  would  not  wish  either  to  my  sonne  nor  to  my  selfe  any 

other  kind  of  death.* 

Such  are  the  sources  from  which  Shakespeare  drew  the  materials  of  the  tragedy  of 
•  Macbeth/  and,  of  course,  for  his  purpose  it  mattered  little  whether  it  were  founded 
on  fact  or  were  the  baseless  fabric  of  a  dream.  Yet,  as  the  editors  here  and  there, 
during  the  progress  of  the  tragedy,  call  attention  to  various  points  where  historic 
truth  is  said  to  be  violated,  it  may  be  worth  while  as  briefly  as  possible  to  compare 
the  fiction  with  the  fact.  What  follows  is  condensed  from  Chalmers's  Caledonia^ 
bk  iii,  ch.  vii. 

The  rebellion  of  Macdonwald,  from  the  Western  Isles,  is  mere  fable.  The 
old  historians  may  have  confounded  it  either  with  the  rebellion  of  Gilcomgain, 
the  maormor  of  Moray,  in  1033,  or  with  the  rebellious  conduct  of  Torfin,  Dun- 
can's cousin.  Nor  was  there  during  the  reign  of  Duncan  any  invasion  of  Fife  by 
Sweno,  Norway's  king.  It  was  to  put  down  the  rebellion  of  Torfin  that  Duncan 
marched  northward  through  the  territorial  government  of  Macbeth,  and  was  slain 
by  treasonous  malice  at  Bothgowanan,  near  Elgin,  and  many  miles  from  Inver- 
ness, in  A.  D.  1039.  Macbeth's  father  was  not  Sinel,  but  Finley,  or  Finlegh,  the 
maormor,  or  prince,  of  Ross,  not  the  thane  of  Glamis,  and  was  killed  about  the  year 
1020,  in  some  encounter  with  Malcolm  II,  the  grandfather  of  Duncan.  Thus  by 
lineage  Macbeth  was  thane  of  Ross,  and  afterwards  by  marriage  the  thane  of 
Moray.  This  same  grandfather  of  Duncan,  Malcolm  II,  also  dethroned  and 
moreover  slew  Lady  Macbeth's  grandfather;  on  both  sides  of  the  house,  there- 
fore, there  was  a  death  to  be  avenged  on  the  person  of  Duncan.  But  of  the  two. 
Lady  Macbeth's  wrongs  were  far  heavier  than  her  husband's,  and  might  well  fill 
her  from  crown  to  toe  topfull  of  direst  cruelty.  Her  name  was  Lady  Gruoch  and 
her  first  husband  was  Gilcomgain,  the  maormor  of  Moray,  a  prince  of  the  highest 
rank  and  next  to  the  royal  family ;  upon  him  Malcolm's  cruelty  fastened,  and  he 
was  burnt  within  his  castle  with  fifty  of  his  clan,  and  his  young  wife  escaped  by 
flight  with  her  infant  son  Lulach.  She  naturally  sought  refuge  in  the  neighboring 
county  of  Ross,  then  governed  by  Macbeth,  and  him  she  married.  About  a  year 
after  the  death  of  her  first  husband.  Lady  Gruoch's  only  brother  was  slain  by  the 
command  of  that  same  aged  Malcolm  II,  whose  peaceful  death  soon  after,  unpre- 
cipitated  by  poison,  flame,  or  sword,  is  not  one  of  the  least  incredible  traditions  of 
that  misty  time. 

In  1054  the  Northumbrians,  led  by  Siward  and  his  son  Osbert,  penetrated  proba- 
bly to  Dunsinnan,  and  in  that  vicinity  Macbeth  met  them  in  a  furious  battle ;  but 
Bellona's  bridegroom  was  defeated,  and  fled  to  the  North.  It  was  not  till  two 
years  afterwards,  on  the  5th  of  December,  1056,  that  he  was  slain  by  Macduff. 

History  knows  nothing  of  Banquo,  the  thane  of  Lochaber,  nor  of  Fleance. 
None  of  the  ancient  chronicles,  nor  Irish  annals,  nor  even  Fordun,  recognize  these 
fictitious  names.  Neither  is  a  thane  of  Lochaber  known  in  Scottish  history,  be- 
cause the  Scottish  kings  never  had  any  demesnes  within  that  inaccessible  district. 

Of  the  fate  of  Lady  Macbeth,  apart  from  the  lines  of  Shakespeare,  history,  tradi- 
tion, and  fable  are  silent. 

The  Scotch  saw  with  indignation  foreign  mercenaries  interfere  in  their  domestic 


372 


APPENDIX. 


affairs,  and  the  name  of  Macbeth  long  remained  popular  in  Scotland,  and  men  of 
great  consequence  held  it  an  honour  to  bear  it. 

The  Clarendon  Editors  add:  'The  single  point  upon  which  historians  agree  is 
that  the  reign  of  Macbeth  was  one  of  remarkable  prosperity  and  vigorous  govern* 
ment. 

*  With  regard  to  Duncan,  we  may  add  a  few  details  of  his  real  history  as  told  by 
Mr  Robertson  (Scotland  under  her  Early  Kings t  vol.  i,  chap.  5).  He  was  the  son 
of  Bethoc  or  Beatrice,  daughter  of  Malcolm,  and  Crinan,  Abbot  of  Dunkeld.  In 
1030  he  succeeded  his  grandfather.  He  laid  siege  to  Durham  in  1040,  but  was  re- 
pulsed with  severe  loss,  and  his  attempt  to  reduce  Thorfin  to  subjection  was  attended 
with  the  same  disastrous  consequences.  "  The  double  failure  in  Northumberland 
and  Moray  hastening  the  catastrophe  of  the  youthful  king,  he  was  assassinated  *  in 
the  Smith's  bothy,*  near  Elgin,  not  far  from  the  scene  of  his  latest  battle,  the  Maor- 
mor  Macbeth  being  the  undoubted  author  of  his  death." 

*  Mr  Robertson  adds  in  a  note : — "Slain  *  a  duce  suo,*  writes  Marianus.  Tighcr- 
nach  adds  immaturA  atate,  contrary  to  all  modem  ideas  of  Duncan.  Marianus  was 
bom  in  1028,  Tighemach  was  his  senior;  their  authority,  therefore,  at  this  period  as 
contemporaries,  is  very  great.  Bothgowanan  means  *  the  Smith's  bothy,'  and  under 
this  word  may  lurk  some  long- forgotten  tradition  of  the  real  circumstances  of  Dun- 
can's murder.  The  vision  of  a  weary  fugitive,  a  deserted  king,  rises  before  the 
mind's  eye,  recalling  *  Beaton's  Mill*  and  the  fate  of  James  the  Third."  * 


The  following  extract  from  Wintownis  Cronykil^  bk  vi,  chap,  xviii,  is  reprinted 
from  one  of  *the  Shakespeare  Society's*  volumes  for  1850:  Simrock's  Remarks  on 
the  Plots  of  Shakespeare's  Plays,  It  is  added  as  a  note  by  the  editor  Mr  Halliwell 
(Phillipps),  who  justly  says  that  *it  is  worth  a  place  in  a  work  which  professedly 
attempts  to  trace  the  plots  to  their  originals  * ;  moreover  as  far  as  certain  historical 
details  are  concerned  Chalmers  (Caledonia^  p.  406)  considers  Wintown  as 'more 
veracious  *  than  Buchanan,  Boethius,  or  Holinshed : 


*  Qu'hen  Makheth- 
And  regnand  in- 

In  this  tyme,  as  yhe  herd  me  tell 

Of  Trewsone  that  in  Ingland  fell. 

In  Scotland  nere  the  lyk  cas 

Be  Makbeth-Fynlayk  practykyd  was, 

Quhen  he  mwrthrysyde  his  awyne  Eme, 

Be  hope,  that  he  had  in  a  dreme, 

That  he  sawe,  quhen  he  was  yhyng 

In  Hows  duelland  wyth  the  Kyng, 

That  fayrly  trettyd  hym  and  welle 

In  all,  that  langyd  hym  ilke  dele  : 

For  he  wes  hys  Systyr  Sone, 

Hys  yharynyng  all  he  get!  be  done. 

Anycht  he  thowcht  in  hys  dremyng, 
That  syttand  he  wes  besyde  the  Kyng 
At  a  Sete  in  hwntyng ;  swa 
In-til  his  Leisch  had  Grewhundys  twa. 
He  thowcht,  quhile  he  wes  swa  syttand. 


Fynlay  rase 
til  Scotland  was.'* 

He  sawe  thre  Wamen  by  gangand ; 
And  thai  Wemen  than  thowcht  he 
Thre  Werd  Systrys  mast  lyk  to  be. 
The  fyrst  he  hard  say  gangand  by, 
'  Lo,   yhondyr   the   Thayne    of    Crwm- 

bawchty.' 
The  tothir  Woman  sayd  agayne, 
*  Of  Morave  yhondyre  I  se  the  Thayne.* 
The  thryd  than  sayd,  '  I  se  the  Kyng.* 
All  this  he  herd  in  hys  dremyng. 

Sone  eftyre  that  in  hys  yhowthad 
Of   thyr   Thayndomys  he   Thayne   wes 

made. 
Syne  neyst  he  thowcht  to  be  Kyng, 
Fra  Dunkanys  dayis  had  tane  endyng. 
The  fantasy  thus  of  hys  Dreme 
Movyd  hym  mast  to  sla  hys  Eme* 


WJNTOWNIS  CRONYKIL. 


373 


As  he  dyd  all  furth  in-dede, 

As  before  yhe  herd  me  rede, 

And  Dame  Grwok,  hys  Emys  Wyf, 

Tuk,  and  led  wyth  hyr  hys  lyf, 

And    held    hyr    bathe,   hys    Wyf,   and 

Qweyne, 
As  befor  than  scho  had  beyne 
Til  hys  Erne  Qwene,  lyvand 
Quhen    he    wes    Kyng    wyth    Crownc 

rygnand : 
For  lytyl  in  honowre  than  had  he 
The  greys  of  Affynyt6. 

All  thus  quhen  his  Erne  wes  dede, 
He  succedyt  in  his  stede : 
And  sevyntene  wyntyr  full  rygnand 
As  Kyng  he  wes  than  in-til  Scotland. 

All  hys  tyme  was  gret  Plenti 
Abowndand,  bath  on  Land  and  Se. 
He  wes  in  Justice  rycht  lawchful, 
And  til  hys  Legis  all  awful. 
Quhen  Leo  the  tend  wes  Pape  of  Rome, 
As  Pylgryne  to  the  Curt  he  come : 
And  in  hys  Almus  he  sew  Sylver 
Til  all  pure  folk,  that  had  myster. 
And  all  tyme  oysyd  he  to  wyrk 
Profytably  for  Hily  Kyrke. 

Bot,  as  we  fynd  be  sum  Storys, 
Gottyne  he  wes  on  ferly  wys. 
Hys  Modyr  to  Woddis  mad  oft  repayre 
For  the  delyte  of  halesum  ayre. 
Swa,  scho  past  a-pon  a  day 
Til  a  Wod,  hyr  for  to  play : 
Scho  met  of  cas  with  a  fayr  man 
(Nevyr  nane  sa  fayre,  as  scho  thowcht 

than, 
Before  than  had  scho  sene  wytht  sycht) 
Of  Bewt6  plesand,  and  of  Hycht 
Proportyownd  wele,  in  all  mesoure 
Of  Lym  and  Lyth  a  fayre  fygowre. 
In  swylk  aqweyntans  swa  thai  fell. 
That,  schortly  thare-of  for  to  tell, 
Thar  in  thar  Gamyn  and  thar  Play, 
That  Persown  be  that  Woman  lay. 
And  on  hyr  that  tyme  to  Sowne  gat 
This  Makbeth,  that  eftyr  that 
Grew  til  thir  Statis,  and  this  hycht. 
To  this  gret  powere,  and  this  mycht. 
As  befor  yhe  have  herd  sayd. 

Fra  this  persowne  wyth  hyr  had  playd, 

32 


And  had  the  Jowm6  wyth  hyr  done, 
That  he  had  gottyne  on  hyr  a  Sone, 
(And  he  the  Dewil  wes,  that  hym  gat) 
And  bad  hyr  noucht  fleyd  to  be  of  that ; 
Bot  sayd,  that  hyr  Sone  suld  be 
A  man  of  gret  state  and  bownt6 ; 
And  na  man  suld  be  borne  of  wyf 
Of  powere  to  rewe  hym  hys  lyf.  - 
And  of  that  Dede  in  taknyng 
He  gave  his  Lemman  thare  a  Ryng ; 
And  bad  hyr,  that  scho  suld  kepe  that 

wele, 
And  hald  for  hys  luve  that  Jwele. 
Eftyr  that  oft  ojrsyd  he 
Til  cum  til  hyr  in  prewat6 ; 
And  tauld  hyr  mony  thyngis  to  fall ; 
Set  trowd  thai  suld  noucht  hawe  bene  alU 

At  hyr  tyme  scho  wes  lychtare. 
And  that  Sowne,  that  he  gat,  scho  bare. 
Makbeth-Fynlake  wes  cald  hys  name, 
That  grewe,  as  yhe  herd,  til  gret  fame. 
This  was  Makbethys  Ofspryng, 
That  hym  eftyr  mad  oure  Kyng, 
As  of  that  sum  Story  sayis ; 
Set  of  hys  Get  fell  othir  wayis, 
And  to  be  gottyn  kyndly. 
As  olhir  men  ar  generaly. 

And  quhen  fyrst  he  to  rys  began, 
Hys  Emys  Sownnys  twa  lauchful  than 
For  dowt  owt  of  the  Kynryk  fled. 
Malcolme,  noucht  gottyn  of  lauchful  bed, 
The  thryd,  past  off  the  land  alsua 
As  banysyd  wyth  hys  Brethyr  twa. 
Til  Saynt  Edward  in  Ingland, 
That  that  tyme  thare  wes  Kyng  ryngnand. 
He  thame  ressawyd  thankfully, 
And  trettyd  thame  rycht  curtasly. 

And  in  Scotland  than  as  Kyng 
This  Makbeth  mad  gret  steryng ; 
And  set  hym  than  in  hys  powere 
A  gret  Hows  for  to  mak  of  Were 
A-pon  the  hycht  of  Dwnsynane : 
Tymbyr  thare-til  to  drawe,  and  stane. 
Of  Fyfe,  and  of  Angws,  he 
Gert  mony  oxin  gadryd  be. 
Sa,  on  a  day  in  thare  trawaile 
A  yhok  of  oxyn  Makbeth  saw  fayle : 
That  speryt  Makbeth,  quha  that  awcht 
The  yhoke,  that  faylyd  in  that  drawcht 


374 


APPENDIX. 


Thai  answeryd  til  Makbeth  agayne. 
And  sayd,  Makduff  of  Fyfe  the  Thaync 
That  ilk  yhoke  of  oxyn  awcht, 
That  he  saw  fayle  in-to  the  drawcht. 
Than  spak  Makbeth  dyspytusly, 
And  to  the  Thayne  sayd  angryly, 
Lyk  all  wrythyn  in  hys  skyn, 
His  awyn  Nek  he  suld  put  in 
The    yhoke,   and    ger    hym    drawchtis 

drawe, 
Noucht  dowtand  all  hys  Kynnys  awe. 

Fra  the  Thayne  Makbeth  herd  speke, 
That  he  wald  put  in  yhok  hys  Neke, 
Of  all  hys  thowcht  he  mad  na  Sang ; 
Bot  prewaly  owt  of  the  thrang 
VVyth  slycht  he  gat ;  and  the  Spensere 
A  Lafe  him  gawe  til  hys  Supere. 
And  als  swne  as  he  mycht  se 
Hys  tyme  and  opportunyti, 
Owt  of  the  Curt  he  past  and  ran, 
And  that  Layf  bare  wyth  hym  than 
To  the  Wattyre  of  Eryne.   That  Brede 
He  gawe  the  Batwartis  hym  to  lede, 
And  on  the  sowth  half  hym  to  sete, 
But  delay,  or  ony  lete. 
That  passage  cald  wes  eftyre  than 
Lang  tyme  Portnebaryan ; 
The  Hawyn  of  Brede  that  suld  be 
Callyd  in-tyl  propyrt6. 
Owre  the  Wattyre  than  wes  he  sete, 
Bwt  dawngere,  or  bwt  ony  lete. 

At  Dwnsynane  Makbeth  that  nycht, 
As  sone  as  hys  Supere  wes  dycht, 
And  hys  Marchalle  hym  to  the  Halle 
Fechyd,  than  amang  thaim  all 
Awaye  the  Thayne  of  Fyfe  wes  myst ; 
And  na  man  quhare  he  wes  than  wyst. 
Yhit  a  Knycht,  at  that  Supere 
That  til  Makbeth  wes  syttand  nere, 
Sayd  til  hym,  it  wes  hys  part 
For  til  wyt  sowne,  quhethirwart 
The  Thayne  of  Fyfe  that  tyme  past : 
For  he  a  wys  man  wes  of  cast, 
And  in  hys  Deyd  wes  rycht  wyly. 
Til  Makbeth  he  sayd,  for-thi 


For  na  cost  that  he  suld  spare, 
Sowne  to  wyt  quhare  MakdufTe  ware. 
This  heyly  movyd  Makbeth  indede 
Agayne  Makduffe  than  to  procede. 

Yhit  Makduff  nevyrthelcs 
That  set  besowth  the  Wattyre  wes 
Of  Erne,  than  past  on  in  Fyfe 
Til  Kennawchy,  quhare  than  hys  Wyfe 
Dwelt  in  a  Hows  mad  of  defens :  * 
And  bad  hyr,  wyth  gret  diligens 
Kepe  that  Hows,  and  gyve  the  Kyng 
Thiddyr  come,  and  mad  bydyng 
Thare  ony  Felny  for  to  do, 
He  gave  hyr  byddyng  than,  that  scho 
Suld  hald  Makbeth  in  fayre  Trett6, 
A  Bate  quhill  scho  suld  sayland  se 
Fra  north  to  the  sowth  passand ; 
And  fra  scho  sawe  that  Bate  sayland. 
Than   tell    Makbeth,   the   Thayne   wes 

thare 
Of  Fyfe,  and  til  Dwnsynane  fare 
To  byde  Makbeth ;  for  the  Thayne 
Of  Fyfe  thowcht,  or  he  come  agayne 
Til  Kennawchy,  than  for  til  bryng 
Hame  wyth  hym  a  lawchful  Kyng. 

Til  Kennawchy  Makbeth  come  sone. 
And  Felny  gret  thare  wald  have  done : 
But  this  Lady  wyth  fayre  Trett6 
Hys  purpos  lettyde  done  to  be. 
And  sone,  fra  scho  the  Sayle  wp  saw, 
Than  til  Makbeth  wyth  lytil  awe 
Scho  sayd,  *  Makbeth,  luke  wp,  and  se 
Wndyr  yhon  Sayle  forsuth  is  he, 
The   Thayne   of    Fyfe,   that    thow    has 

sowcht. 
Trowe    thowe   welle,   and    dowt    rj'chi 

nowcht. 
Gyve  evyr  thow  sail  hym  se  agayne. 
He  sail  the  set  in-tyl  gret  payne ; 
Syne  thow  wald  hawe  put  hys  Neke 
In-til  thi  yhoke.     Now  will  I  speke 
Wyth  the  na  mare :  fare  on  thi  waye, 
Owthire  welle,  or  ill,  as  happyne  may.* 

That  passage  syne  wes  comownly 
In  Scotland  cald  the  Erlys-ferry. 


1  'This  "hows  of  defens  "  was  perhaps  Maiden  Castle,  the  ruins  of  which  are  on  the  south  side 
of  the  present  Kennoway.  There  are  some  remains  of  Roman  antiquity  in  this  neighbourhood, 
and  it  is  very  probable  that  Macduff's  castle  stood  on  the  site  of  a  Roman  CasUllum* — Ma&> 

rHERSON. 


WINTOWNIS  CRONYKIL. 


375 


Of  that  Ferry  for  to  knaw 
Bath  the  Statute  and  the  Lawe, 
A  Bate  suld  be  on  ilke  syde 
For  to  wayt,  and  tak  the  Tyde, 
Til  mak  thame  frawcht,  that  wald  be 
Fra  land  to  land  be-yhond  the  Se. 
Fra  that  the  sowth  Bate  ware  sene 
The  landis  wndyre  sayle  betwene 
Fra  the  sowth  as  than  passand 
Toward  the  north  the  trad  haldand, 
The  north  Bate  suld  be  redy  made 
Towart  the  sowth  to  hald  the  trade : 
And  thare  suld  nane  pay  mare 
Than  foure  pennys  for  thare  fare, 
Quha-evyr  for  his  frawcht  wald  be 
For  caus  frawchtyd  owre  that  Se. 

This  MakdufT  than  als  fast 
In  Ingland  a-pon  Cowndyt  past. 
Thare  Dunkanys  Sownnys  thre  he  fand, 
That  ware  as  banysyd  off  Scotland, 
Quhen    Makbeth-Fynlake   thare    Fadyr 

slwe, 
And  all  the  Kynryk  til  hym  drwe. 
Saynt  Edward  Kyng  of  Ingland  than, 
That  wes  of  lyf  a  haly  man, 
That  trettyd  thir  Bamys  honestly, 
Ressayvyd  Makduff  rych  curtasly, 
Quhen  he  come  til  hys  presens. 
And  mad  hym  honowre  and  reverens. 
As  afferyd.     Til  the  Kyng 
He  tauld  the  caus  of  hys  cummyng. 
The  Kyng  than  herd  hym  movyrly, 
And  answeryd  hym  all  gudlykly. 
And  sayd,  hys  wyll  and  hys  delyte 
Wes  to  se  for  the  profyte 
Of  tha  Bamys ;  and  hys  wille 
Wes  thare  honowre  to  fullfille. 
He  cownsayld  this  Makduffe  for-thi 
To  trete  tha  Bamys  curtasly. 
And  quhilk  of  thame  wald  wyth  hym  ga. 
He  suld  in  all  thame  sykkyre  ma, 
As  thai  wald  thame  redy  mak 
For  thare  Fadyre  dede  to  take 
Revengeans,  or  wald  thare  herytage, 
That  to  thame  felle  by  rycht  lynage, 
He  wald  thame  helpe  in  all  thare  rycht 
With  gret  suppowale,  fors,  and  mycht 

Schortly  to  say,  the  lawchful  twa 
Brethire  forsuke  wyth  hym  to  ga 


For  dowt,  he  ]iut  thaim  in  that  peryle, 
That  thare  Fadyre  sufferyd  qwhyle, 
Malcolme  the  thyrd,  to  say  schortly, 
Makduff  cownsalyd  rycht  thraly. 
Set  he  wes  noucht  of  lauchfuU  bed. 
As  in  this  Buke  yhe  have  herd  rede : 
Makduff  hym  tretyd  nevyr-the-les 
To  be  of  stark  hart  and  stowtnes, 
And  manlykly  to  tak  on  hand 
To  here  the  Crowne  than  of  Scotland : 
And  bade  hym  thare-of  hawe  na  drede : 
For  kyng  he  suld  be  made  in -dede  : 
And  that  Traytoure  ne  suld  sla. 
That    banysyd    hym    and    hys    Bredyr 
twa. 

Tham  Malcolme  sayd,  he  had  a  ferly 
That  he  hym  fandyde  sa  thraly 
Of  Scotland  to  tak  the  Crowne, 
Qwhill  he  kend  hys  condytyowne. 
Forsuth,  he  sayde,  thare  wes  nane  than 
Swa  lycherows  a  lyvand  man, 
As  he  wes ;  and  for  that  thyng 
He  dowtyde  to  be  made  a  Kyng. 
A  Kyngis  lyf,  he  sayd,  suld  be 
Ay  led  in-til  gret  honest^ : 
For-thi  he  cowth  iwyl  be  a  Kyng, 
He  sayd,  that  oysyd  swylk  lyvyng. 

Makduff  than  sayd  til  hym  agayne. 
That  that  excnsatyowne  wes  in  wayne : 
For  gyve  he  oysyd  that  in-dede. 
Of  Women  he  suld  have  na  nede ; 
For  of  hys  awyne  Land  suld  he 
Fay  re  Wemen  have  in  gret  plent*. 
Gyve  he  had  Conscyens  of  that  plycht. 
Mend  to  God,  that  has  the  mycht. 

Than  Malcolme  sayd, '  Thare  is  mare, 
That  lettis  me  wyth  the  to  fare : 
That  is,  that  I  am  sua  brynnand 
In  Cowatys,  that  all  Scotland 
Owre  lytil  is  to  my  persowne : 
I  set  nowcht  thare-by  a  bwttowne.* 

Makduff  sayd,  *  Cum  on  wyth  me : 
In  Ryches  thow  sail  abowndand  be. 
Trow  wele  the  Kynryk  of  Scotland 
Is  in  Ryches  abowndand.* 

Yhit  mare  Malcolme  sayd  agayne 
Til  Makduff  of  Fyfe  the  Thayne, 
*  The  thryd  wyce  yhit  mais  me  Lete 
My  purpos  on  thys  thyng  to  sete : 


i76 


APPENDIX. 


I  am  sa  fals,  that  na  man  may 
Trow  a  wordc  that  evyre  I  say.* 

*  Ha,  ha !  Frcnd,  I  Icve  the  thare/ 
MakdufT  sayd,  '  I  will  na  mare. 
I  will  na  langare  karpe  wyth  the, 
Na  of  this  matere  have  Trett6 ; 
Syne  thow  can  nothire  hald,  na  say 
That  stedfast  Trowth  wald,  or  gud  Fay. 
He  is  na  man,  of  swylk  a  Kynd 
Cummyn,  hot  of  the  Dewylis  Strynd, 
That  can  nothyr  do  na  say 
Than  langis  to  Trowth,  and  gud  Fay. 
God  of  the  Dewyl  sayd  in  a  quhile. 
As  I  hawe  herd  red  the  Wangyle, 
He  is,  he  sayd,  a  Leare  fals : 
Swylk  is  of  hym  the  Fadyre  als. 
Here  now  my  Leve  I  tak  at  the, 
And  gyvys  wp  halyly  all  Trett6. 
I  cownt  noucht  the  tothir  twa 
Wycys  the  walu  of  a  Stra : 
Bot  hys  thryft  he  has  said  all  owte, 
Quham  falshad  haldis  wndyrlowte.' 

Til  Makduff  of  Fyf  the  Thayne 
This  Malcolme  awnseryde  than  agayne, 
*  I  will,  I  will,'  he  sayd,  *  wyth  the 
Pass,  and  prove  how  all  will  be. 
I  sail  be  lele  and  stedfast  ay. 
And  hald  till  ilke  man  gud  fay. 
And  na  les  in  the  I  trowe. 
For-thi  my  purpxos  hale  is  nowe 
For  my  Fadrys  Dede  to  ta 
Revengeans,  and  that  Traytoure  sla, 
That  has  my  Fadyre  befor  slayne ; 
Or  I  sail  dey  in-to  the  payne.' 

To  the  Kyng  than  als  fast 
To  tak  hys  Leve  than  Malcolme  past, 
Makduff  wyth  hym  hand  in  hand. 
This  Kyng  Edward  of  Ingland 
Gawe   hym   hys    Lewe,   and    hys    gud 

wyll, 
And  gret  suppowale  heycht  thame  tille. 
And  helpe  to  wyn  hys  Herytage. 

On  this  thai  tuke  thane  thaire  wayage. 
And  this  Kyng  than  of  Ingland 
Bad  the  Lord  of  Northwmbyrland, 
Schyr  Sward,  to  rys  wyth  all  hys  mycht 
In  Malcolmys  helpe  to  wyn  hys  rycht. 


Than  wyth  thame  of  Northumbyrland 
This  Malcolme  enteryd  in  Scotland, 
And  past  oure  Forth,  doun  strawcht  to 

Tay, 
Wp  that  Wattyre  the  hey  way 
To  the  Brynnane  to-gyddyr  hale. 
Thare  thai  bad,  and  tvk  cownsale. 
Syne  thai  herd,  that  Makbeth  aye 
In  fantown  Fretis  had  gret  Fay, 
And  trowth  had  in  swylk  Fantasy, 
Be  that  he  trowyd  stedfastly, 
Nevyre  dyscumfyt  for  to  be, 
Qwhill  wyth  his  Eyne  he  suld  »e 
The  Wode  browcht  of  Brynnane 
To  the  hill  of  Dwnsynane. 

Of  that  Wode  thare  ilka  man 
In-til  hys  hand  a  biisk  tuk  than : 
Of  all  hys  Ost  wes  na  man  fre. 
Than  in  his  hand  a  busk  bare  he : 
And  til  Dwnsynane  alsa  fast 
Agayne  this  Makbeth  thai  past. 
For  thai  thowcht  wytht  swylk  a  wyle 
This  Makbeth  for  til  begyle. 
Swa  for  to  cum  in  prewat^         • 
On  hym,  or  he  suld  wytryd  be. 
The  flyttand  Wod  thai  callyd  ay 
That  lang  tyme  eftyre-hend  that  day. 
Of  this  quhen  he  had  sene  that  sycht. 
He  wes  rycht  wa,  and  tuk  the  flycht : 
And  owre  the  Mownth  thai  chast  Yijtn 

than 
Tyl  the  Wode  of  Lunfanan. 
This  Makduff  wes  thare  mast  fel!e. 
And  on  that  chas  than  mast  crwele. 
Bot  a  Knycht,  that  in  that  chas 
Til  this  Makbeth  than  nerest  was, 
Makbeth  tumyd  hym  agayne, 
And   sayd,  *  Lurdane,   thow   prykys   in 

wayne, 
For  thow  may  noucht  be  he,  I  trowe, 
That  to  dede  sail  sla  me  nowe. 
That  man  is  novvcht  borne  of  Wyf 
Of  powere  to  rewe  me  my  lyfe.' 

The  Knycht  sayd,  *  I  wes  nevyr  borne, 
Bot  of  my  Modyre  Wamc  wes  scheme. 
Now  sail  thi  Tresowne  here  tak  end ; 
For  to  thi  Fadyre  I  sail  the  send.'  * 


>  This  .np{>ear8  to  be  historic  truth.     But  Boyse  thought  it  did  not  make  so  good  a  stor>'  as  thai 


SOURCE  OF  THE  PLOT. 


377 


Thus  Makbeth  slwe  thai  than 
In-to  the  Wodc  of  Lunfanan : 
And  his  Hewyd  thai  strak  off  thare ; 
And    that   wyth   thame  fra  thine  thai 

bare 
Til  Kynkardyn,  quhare  the  Kyng 
Tylle  thare  gayne-come  made  bydyng. 


Of  that  slawchter  ar  thire  wers 
In  Latyne  wryttyne  to  rehers ; 

Rex  Macabeda  decern  Scotie  septemque 
fit  Unnis, 
In  cujus  regno  fertile  tempus  erat: 
Hitnc  in  Lunfanan  truncavit  morte  eru* 

deli 
Duncani  natuSf  nomine  Malcolimus, 


Farmer  in  his  Essay  on  the  Learning  of  Shakespeare  (2d  ed.,  p.  56,  1767)  says: 
*  Macbeth  was  certainly  one  of  Shakespeare's  latest  productions,  and  it  might  possibly 
have  been  suggested  to  him  by  a  little  performance  on  the  same  subject  at  Oxford, 
before  king  James,  1605.  I  will  transcribe  my  notice  of  it  from  Wake's  Hex  Pla- 
tonicus  :  **  Fabulse  ansam  dedit  antiqua  de  Regift.  prosapi&  historiola  apud  Scoto-Bri' 
tannos  celebrata,  quae  narj-at  tres  olim  Sibyllas  occurrisse  duobus  Scotia  proceribus, 
Macbetho  6f*  Banchoni,  &  ilium  prsedixisse  Regem  futurum,  sed  Regem  nullum  geni- 
turum ;  hunc  Regem  non  futurum,  sed  Reges  geniturum  multos.  Vaticinii  veritatem 
rerum  eventus  comprobavit.  Banchonis  enim  h  stirpe  Potentissimus  Jacobus  oriun- 
dus."  p.  29.* 

Subsequently  Dr  Farmer  characteristically  added : 

*  Since  I  made  the  observation  here  quoted,  I  have  been  repeatedly  told,  that  I  un* 
^vittingly  make  Shakespeare  learned,  at  least  in  Latin,  as  this  must  have  been  the 
language  of  the  performance  before  king  James.  One  might,  perhaps,  have  plausi- 
bly said,  that  he  probably  picked  up  the  story  at  second-hand ;  but  mere  accident  has 
thrown  a  pamphlet  in  my  way,  intitled  The  Oxford  Triumph^  by  one  Anthony  Nixon, 
1605,  which  explains  the  whole  matter:  "This  performance,"  says  Anthony,  "was 
first  in  Latine  to  the  king,  then  in  English  to  the  queene  and  young  prince :"  and,  as  he 
goes  on  to  tell  us,  "  the  conceit  thereof  the  kinge  did  very  much  applaude."  It  is 
likely  that  the  friendly  letter,  which  we  are  informed  king  James  once  wrote  to 
Shakespeare,  was  on  this  occasion.' 

The  mention  of  this  interlude  of  course  inflamed  Malone's  curiosity,  and  after  de- 
tailing the  difficulties  of  his  search  for  it,  he  triumphantly  adds :  *  At  length  chance 
threw  into  my  hands  the  very  verses  that  were  spoken  in  1605,  by  three  young  gen- 
tlemen of  that  college ;  and,  "  that  no  man  "  (to  use  the  words  of  Dr  Johnson)  "  may 
ever  want  them  more,"  I  will  here  transcribe  them. 

*  There  is  some  difficulty  in  reconciling  the  different  accounts  of  this  entertainment. 
The  author  of  Rex  Platonicus  says,  "  Tres  adolescentes  concinno  Sibyllarum  habitu 
induti,  h  coUegio  [Divi  Johannis]  prodeuntes,  et  carmina  lepida  altematim  canentes, 
Regi  se  tres  esse  Sibyllas  profitentur,  quse  Banchoni  olim  sobolis  imperia  pnedixerant, 
^c.  Deinde  tnbus  principibus  suaves  felicitatum  triplicitates  triplicatis  carminum 
vicibus  succinentes, — principes  ingeniosa  fictiuncula  delectatos  dimittunt." 

*  But  in  a  manuscript  account  of  the  king's  visit  to  Oxford  in  1605,  in  the  Museum, 
iMSS.  Baker,  7044,)  this  interlude  is  thus  described:  "This  being  done,  he  [the 
king]  rode  on  untill  he  came  unto  St.  John's  college,  where  coming  against  the  gate, 
three  young  youths,  in  habit  and  attire  like  Nymphes^  confronted  him,  representing 


Macbeth  should  be  slain  by  Macduff,  whom  he  therefore  works  up  to  a  proper  temper  of  revenipe,  by 
previously  sending  Macbeth  to  murder  his  wife  and  children.    All  this  has  a  very  fine  effect  in 
romance,  or  upon  the  Ntage.— Macpitbrson. 
32* 


378  APPENDIX. 

England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland;  and  talking  dialogue-wise  each  to  other  of  their 
state,  at  last  concluded,  yielding  up  themselves  to  his  gracious  government."  With 
this  A.  Nixon's  account,  in  The  Oxford  Triumph^  quarto,  1605,  in  some  measure 
agrees,  though  it  differs  in  a  very  material  point ;  for,  if  his  relation  is  to  be  credited, 
these  young  men  did  not  alternately  recite  verses,  but  pronounced  three  distinct  ora- 
tions :  **  This  finished,  his  Majestie  passed  along  till  hee  came  before  Saint  John's 
college,  when  three  little  boyes,  coming  foorth  of  a  castle  made  all  of  ivie,  drest  like 
three  nymphes^  (the  conceipt  whereof  the  king  did  very  much  applaude,)  delivered 
three  orations^  first  in  Latine  to  the  king,  then  in  English  to  the  queene  and  young 
prince ;  which  being  ended,  his  majestie  proceeded  towards  the  east  gate  of  the  citie, 
where  the  townesmen  againe  delivered  to  him  another  speech  in  English." 

*  From  tnese  discordant  accounts  one  might  be  led  to  suppose,  that  there  were  six 
actors  on  this  occasion,  three  of  whom  personated  the  Sy bills,  or  rather  the  Weird 
Sisters,  and  addressed  the  royal  visitors  in  Latin,  and  that  the  other  three  represented 
England,  Scotland,  and  Ireland,  and  spoke  only  in  English.  I  believe,  however, 
that  there  were  but  three  young  men  employed;  and  after  reciting  the  following 
Latin  lines,  (which  prove  that  the  weird  sisters  and  the  representatives  of  England, 
Scotland,  and  Ireland,  were  the  same  persons,)  they  might  perhaps,  have  pronounced 
some  English  verses  of  a  similar  import,  for  the  entertainment  of  the  queen  and  the 
princes. 

*  To  the  Latin  play  of  Vertumnus^  written  by  Dr  Mathew  Gwynne,  which  was  acted 
before  the  king  by  some  of  the  students  of  St  John's  college  on  a  subsequent  day, 
we  are  indebted  for  the  long-sought-for  interlude,  performed  at  St  John's  gate ;  for 
Dr  Gwynne.  who  was  the  author  of  this  interlude  also,  has  annexed  it  to  his  VertufH' 
nuSf  printed  in  4to  in  1607. 

' "  Ad  regis  introitum,  e  Joannensi  CoUegio  extra  portam  urbis  borealem  site,  trcs 
quasi  Sibyllse,  sic  (ut  e  sylva)  salutarunt. 

1.  Fatidicas  olim  fama  est  cecinisse  sorores 
Imperium  sine  fine  tuse,  rex  inclyte,  stirpis. 
Banquonem  agnovit  generosa  Loquabria  Thanum ; 
Nee  tibi,  Banquo,  tuis  sed  sceptra  nepotibus  illae 
Immortalibus  immortalia  vaticinatse : 

In  saltum,  ut  lateas,  dum  Banquo  recedis  ab  aula. 
Tres  eadem  pariter  canimus  tibi  fata  tuisque, 
Dum  spectande  tuis,  e  saltu  accedis  ad  urbem ; 
Teque  salutamus :  Salve,  cui  Scotia  servit ; 

2.  Anglia  cui,  salve.     3.  Cui  servit  Hibemia,  salve. 

1.  Gallia  cui  titulos,  terras  dant  coetera,  salve. 

2.  Quem  divisa  prius  edit  una  Britannia,  salve. 

3.  Summe  Monarcha  Britannice,  Hibemice,  Gallice,  salve. 

1.  Anna,  parens  regum,  soror  uxor,  filia,  salve. 

2.  Salve,  Henrice  haeres,  princeps  pulcherrime,  salve. 

3.  Dux  Carole,  et  perbcUe  Polonice  regule,  salve. 
I.  Nee  metas  fatis,  nee  tempera  ponimus  istis; 
Qdin  orbis  regno,  famae  sint  terminus  astra : 
Canittum  referas  regno  quadruplice  clarum; 
Major  avis,  sequande  tuis  diademate  solis. 

Nee  serimus  csedes,  nee  bella,  nee  anxia  corda ; 
Nee  furor  in  nobis ;  sed  agente  calescimus  illo 


SOURCE  OF  THE  PLOT.  379 

Numine,  quo  Thomas  Whitus  per  somnia  motus, 

Londinenses  eques,  musis  hsec  tecta  dicavit. 

Musis  ?  imo  Deo,  tutelarique  Joanni. 

Ille  Deo  charum  et  curam,  prope  praetereuntem 

Ire  salutatum,  Christi  precursor,  ad  aedem 

Christi  pergcntem,  jussit.     DictA  ergo  salute 

Perge,  tuo  aspectu  sit  laeta  Academia,  perge."  * 
It  is  perhaps  needless  to  add  that  Dr  Fanner's  hypothesis  has  not  to  this  day  found 
any  advocates. 

I  subjoin  the  traditionary  sources  of  one  or  two  other  incidents  employed  in  this 
tragedy. 

SiMROCK  {Die  QuelUn  des  Shakespeare^  ii,  256,  1 870,  ed.  2).  The  story  told  by 
Boethius  can  hardly  be  founded  on  history,  but  certainly  it  has  a  deep  foundation  in 
popular  legends.  The  gaps  in  the  story  have  been  manifestly  supplied  from  popular 
tales.  Grimm,  in  his  notes  on  the  story  of  the  Fisherman  and  his  IVi/e,  has  com> 
pared  Lady  Macbeth  with  the  Etrurian  Tanaquil,  who,  also,  like  Eve,  tempts  her 
husband  to  aim  at  high  honours.  In  Livy's  history,  this  resemblance  crops  out  in 
Tullia,  the  wife  of  the  easy-going  Tarquin.  The  incident  of  the  moving  forest  is 
found  in  myths  in  various  other  ways.  It  corresponds  closely  to  the  story  of  King 
Grilnewald,  which  Professor  Schwarz  has  preserved  in  his  Hessian  Notabilia  derived 
from  oral  tradition.  'A  King  had  an  only  daughter,  who  possessed  wondrous  gifts. 
Now,  once  upon  a  time  there  came  his  enemy,  a  King  named  Grilnewald,  and 
besieged  him  in  his  castle,  and,  as  the  siege  lasted  long,  the  daughter  kept  con- 
tinually  encouraging  her  father  in  the  castle.  This  lasted  till  May-day.  Then  all 
of  a  sudden  the  daughter  saw  the  hostile  army  approach  with  green  boughs :  then 
fear  and  anguish  fell  on  her, /or  she  knew  that  ail  toos  lost,  and  said  to  her  father — 


'  Father,  you  must  yield,  or  die, 
I  see  the  green-wood  drawing  nigh.' 


See  Grimm's  German  Popular  Tales,  i,  148.  Here  the  correspondence  to  the 
legend  of  Macbeth  b  not  to  be  mistaken.  The  daughter  plays  the  same  part  here 
as  the  witches  there.  She  knows,  by  means  of  her  miraculous  gifts,  that  her  father 
cannot  be  conquered  till  the  green-wood  moves  upon  them ;  but,  as  she  considers 
this  impossible,  she  incites  him  to  confidence ;  but,  when  the  supposed  impossible 
incident  actually  comes  to  pass,  she  counsels  him  to  surrender.  On  the  other  hand, 
no  prophecy  appears  to  haVe  anticipated  the  cunning  of  Fredegunda,  who  hung  bells 
on  her  horses,  and  ordered  each  of  her  warriors  to  take  a  bough  in  his  hand,  and 
thus  to  march  against  the  enemy ;  whereby  the  sentinels  of  the  hostile  camp  were 
deceived,  believing  their  horses  were  browsing  in  the  neighbouring  forest,  until  the 
Franks  let  their  boughs  fall,  and  the  forest  stood  leafless,  but  thick  with  the  shafts 
of  glancing  spears.  (See  Grimm's  German  Popular  Tales,  ii,  91.)  It  was  merely 
a  military  stratagem ;  just  as  Malcolm,  when  he  commanded  his  soldiers,  on  their 
forward  march,  to  conceal  themselves  with  boughs,  had  no  other  end  in  view,  for  he 
knew  not  what  had  been  prophesied  to  Macbeth.  The  following  passage  from  Joh. 
Weyer,  De  Prastigiis,  Frankfurt,  1586,  p.  329,  is  noteworthy :  *  Whoever  wishes  to 
give  himself  the  appearance  of  having  a  thousand  men  or  horse  round  him,  let  him 
have  a  year-old  willow  bough  cut  off  at  a  single  stroke,  with  certain  conjurations, 
repetition  of  barbarous  words,  and  rude  characters.'  A  single  man  might  really  find 
some  difficulty  in  giving  himself,  by  the  use  of  this  boasted  charm,  the  appearance 


380  APPENDIX. 

of  a  whole  army ;  but  the  inventor  evidently  fonnded  his  pretension  upon  a  popular 
legend,  according  to  which  a  bold  army  had,  by  this  artifice,  concealed  its  weakness 
from  an  enemy  superior  in  numbers.  According  to  Holinshed,  however,  Malcolm's 
army  was  superior  in  number  to  that  of  Macbeth,  and  the  concealment  with  the 
boughs  was  only  made  use  of  in  order  that,  when  they  were  thrown  away,  sudden 
,  vision  of  the  superiority  of  numbers  might  create  more  terror.  In  my  Manual  of 
German  Mythology ^  p.  557,  it  is  shown  that  the  legend  of  the  moving  forest  orig- 
inated in  the  German  religious  custom  of  May-festivals,  or  Summer-welcomings,  and 
that  *  King  GrUnewald '  is  originally  a  Winter-giant,  whose  dominion  ceases  when 
the  May-feast  begins  and  the  green-wood  draws  nigh.  This  is  the  mythical  basis  of 
the  Macbeth-legend. 

The  second  prediction  that  <  none  of  woman  bom  should  harm  Macbeth  *  we  can 
also  trace  in  *Prince  Wladimir  and  his  Table-round^  (Leipsig,  1819),  where  the 
signe  prophesy  is  made  over  the  cradle  of  the  hero  Tugarin,  the  son  of  a  snake. 
In  thjc  Shdh-n^Ma  of  Firdausi,  Rustum  *  was  bom,  as  was  Macduff.  And  in  many 
other  instances  heroes  and  demi-gods  were  similarly  ushered  into  the  world,  and  it 
always  implied  power  and  heroic  strength.  Such  an  one  was  Wdlsung,  Sigurd's 
ancestor.  It  was,  however,  not  the  case  with  the  unborn  Burkart,  Burchardus  in- 
genitus,' whose  skin  remained  always  so  tender  that  every  gnat  brought  blood,  and 
his  tutor  was  therefore  obliged  to  abolish  the  rod  utterly,  and  afler  all  he  grew  up  a 
learned  and  virtuous  rolm. 

Halliwell.  The  incident  of  cutting  down  the  branches  of  the  trees  is  related  in 
the  old  romance  life  of  Alexander  the  Great,  thus  translated  in  the  Thornton  MS, 
in  the  library  of  Lincoln  Cathedral :  <  In  the  mene  tyme,  Kyng  Alexander  remowed 
his  oste,  and  drew  nere  the  cit^  of  Susis,  in  the  whilke  Darius  was  lengand  the 
same  tyme,  so  that  he  mygte  see  alle  the  heghe  hillez  that  ware  abowune  the  citee. 
Than  Alexander  commanded  alle  his  mene  that  ilkane  of  thame  suld  cutte  downe  a 
brawnche  of  a  tree,  and  here  thame  furth  with  thame,  and  dryfe  bifore  thame  alle 
manere  of  bestez  that  thay  mygte  fynde  in  the  way ;  and  when  the  Percyenes  saw 
thame  fra  the  heghe  hillez,  thay  wondred  thame  gretly.' 

Dr  J.  G.  RiTTER  (Programm  der  Realschule  zu  Leer,  1 871),  in  his  excellent 
notes  on  Macbeth,  cites  the  following  extract,  in  reference  to  the  antiquity  of  the 
legend  of  the  *  moving  forest ' : — Croniques  de  St  Denis.  Bibl.  Imp.  Paris,  Cod. 
10298,  f.  17 :  Lors  s'  esmut  Tost  (de  Fridegonde)  tout  de  nuiz.  et  les  mena  Landris 
qui  les  guioit  parmi  un  bois.  Tantdt  comme  cil  Landris  entra  dedcns  le  bois  il 
pendi  une  clochete  au  col  de  son  cheval  et'  prist  une  grant  branche  d'arbre  toute 
foillue.  et  sen  couvri  au  miex  qu'  il  pot  lui  et  son  cheval.  et  dist  a  touz  les  autres  que 
il  feissent  aussi,  et  il  le  firent  tuit  communement  qui  miex  miex.  et  vindrent  ausi 
comme  a  ore  de  matines  sus  leurs  anemis.  et  tenait  tout  ades  Fridegonde  Clothaire 
son  fils  devant  chevaliers,  porce  que  il  en  eussent  pitie.  qar  s*  il  avenist  qu*  il  fussent 
vaincuz,  li  enfens  fust  a  toz  jors  et  chetis  et  maudis.  Quant  il  vindrent  bien  pres  de 
lor  anemis  uns  de  ceus  qui  eschargaitoi  1'  ost  les  vit,  et  les  regarda  au  miex  qu'  il  pot 
en  tel  maniere  comm'  il  estoient  atome.  et  li  sembla  que  ce  fust  un  bois.  II  s'  esmer- 
veilla  que  ce  estoit,  et  vint  a  un  de  ses  compaignons  et  li  dist.  Je  vols  fist  il  ci  pres 
de  nos  un  bois,  et  ersoir  n'  en  i  avoit  point,  lors  li  dist  ses  compains.  biaux  amis  tu 
manjas  ersoir  et  beus  trop.  tu  songes.  Ne  te  souvient  il  pas  que  nos  meismes  ersoir 
nos  chevaux  pestre,  et  n'  os  tu  pas  les  clochetes  qui  lor  furent  pendues  as  cox  ? 

*  The  '  Hercules  of  Persia/  as  he  is  termed  by  Mr  Fitzgerald  in  his  exquisite  rendering  of  the 
Rub&iySU  ^ Omar  Kkayytim.  Ed. 


DA  TE  OF  THE  PLA  Y.  381 

Endementres  que  il  parloient  ensi  la  forest  que  il  avaient  veue  oscurement  leur 
apparut  en.apert,  qar  il  jecerent  jus  les  ramissiaux  et  aparurent  les  armes  tot  aperte- 
ment.  les  guetes  escrierent :  trai,  trai.  1'  ost  estoit  endormic  por  le  travail  qu*  il 
avoient  le  jor  deyant  eu.  et  cil  se  ferirent  en  els  hardiement.  cil  qui  s*  en  porent  foir 
s'en  foirent.  et  mult  en  i  ot  d'  ocis  et  de  pris.  Tant  fist  Fr6:legonde  q'  ele  vainqui 
la  bataille. 


DATE  OF  THE  PLAY. 

Capell  (Notes,  ii,  26).  The  matter  treated  on  [in  IV,  iii,  140-159]  leads  to  a 
discovery  of  what  all  must  wish  to  have  settl'd, — ^the  chronology  of  the  play.  That 
it's  general  fable  was  made  choice  of  on  the  score  of  King  James,  is  acknowledg'd 
on  all  hands ;  and  this  engrafted  particular,  of  the  virtue  of  kingly  touches,  serv'd 
the  purpose  of  incense  to  him,  as  well  as  it*s  witchery  and  the  fortunes  of  his  an- 
cestor Banquo:  Touching  for  the  *  evil^  was  reviv'd  by  this  king  in  his  reign's 
beginning,  and  practisM  with  great  ceremony,  a  ritual  being  established  for  it :  the 
mention  of  it*s  source,  when  a  novelty,  had  some  grace  on  the  stage,  and  in  the  ear 
of  it's  reviver ;  and  to  that  period,  the  king's  third  or  fourth  year,  [James  ascended 
the  throne  in  March,  1602-3.  Ed.]  reason  bids  us  assign  the  speech  in  question. 
This  conjecture  about  it's  date,  it  will  be  said,  stands  in  need  of  some  strength'ning : 
call  we  in  then  to  it's  aid  another  conjecture,  built  upon  what  is  found  in  [Farmer's 
Essay,  cited  on  p.  377.  Ed.]  A  Latin  play  on  this  subject  was  parcel  of  the  king's 
entertainment  at  Oxford  in  1605 ;  that  it  preceded  the  play  before  us,  is  nearly  cer- 
tain ;  For  what  writer  would,  on  such  an  occasion,  think  of  dressing  up  one  upon  a 
fable  that  was  then  in  exhibition  elsewhere  ?  and  that  it  preceded  not  long,  highly 
probable ;  weighing  the  rapid  pen  of  this  Author,  and  the  advantage  to  be  expected 
from  a  quick  bringing  it  on  upon  his  own  newly-establish'd  stage  in  the  Black-friars. 

Malone  (vol.  ii,  p.  407,  ed.  182 1).  I  have  observed  some  notes  of  time  in  this 
tragedy  that  appear  to  me  strongly  to  confirm  the  date  I  have  assigned  to  it  [viz : 
1606].  They  occur  in  II,  iii,  4,  5:  'Here's  a /irm^ that  hang'd  himself  on  th» 
expectation  of  plenty*  The  price  of  com  was  then,  as  now,  the  great  criterion  of 
plenty  or  scarcity.  That  in  the  summer  and  autumn  of  1606  there  was  a  prospect 
of  plenty  of  com  appears  from  the  audit-book  of  the  College  of  Eton ;  for  the  price 
of  wheat  in  that  year  was  lower  than  it  was  for  thirteen  years  afterwards,  being  thirty- 
three  shillings  the  quarter.  In  the  preceding  year  ( 1 605 )  it  was  two  shillings  a  quarter 
dearer,  and  in  the  subsequent  year  (1607)  three  shillings  a  quarter  dearer.  In  1608 
wheat  was  sold  at  Windsor  market  for  fifty-six  shillings  and  eight  pence  a  quarter; 
and  in  1609  for  fifty  shillings.  In  1606  barley  and  malt  were  considerably  cheaper 
than  in  the  two  years  subsequent 

In  the  following  words  in  the  same  scene  there  is  sr  still  stronger  confirmation  of 
the  date  of  this  tragedy:  *here*8  an  equivocator,  that  could  sxoear  in  both  scales 
against  either  scale ;  who  committed  treason  enough  for  God*s  sake ;  yet  could  not 
equivocate  to  heaven.' 

Warburton  long  since  observed  that  there  was  here  an  allusion  to  the  Jesuits  as 


382  APPENDIX. 

•  the  inventors  of  the  execrable  doctrine  of  equivocation/  If  the  allusion  were  only 
thus  general,  this  passage  would  avail  us  little  in  settling  the  time  when  Macbeth 
was  written ;  but  it  was  unquestionably  much  more  particular  and  personal,  and  had 
direct  reference  to  the  doctrine  of  equivocation  avowed  by  Henry  Garnet,  Superior 
of  the  order  of  Jesuits  in  England,  on  his  trial  for  the  Gunpowder  Treason,  on  the 
28th  of  March,  1606,  and  to  his  detestable  perjury  on  that  occasion,  or,  as  Shake- 
speare  expresses  it, '  to  his  swearing  in  both  scales  against  either  scale,'  that  is,  flatly 
and  directly  contradicting  himself  on  oath. 

This  trial,  at  which  King  James  himself  was  present  incognito,  doubtless  attracted 
very  general  notice;  and  the  allusion  to  his  gross  equivocation  and  perjury  thus 
recent,  and  probably  the  common  topic  of  discoui'se,  must  have  been  instantly  under- 
stood, and  loudly  applauded. 

In  a  letter  from  Mr  John  Chamberlain  to  Mr  Winwood,  April  5, 1606,  concerning 
the  trial,  it  is  stated, «.  .  .  that  by  the  cunning  of  his  keeper,  Garnet,  being  brought 
into  a  fool's  paradise,  had  diverse  conferences  with  Hall,  his  fellow  priest,  in  the 
Tower,  which  were  overheard  by  spials  set  on  purpose.  With  which  being  charged, 
he  stiffly  denyed  it ;  but  being  still  urged,  and  some  light  given  him  that  they  had 
notice  of  it,  he  persisted  still,  with  protestation  upon  his  soul  and  salvation^  that  there 
had  passed  no  such  interlocution  :  till  at  last,  being  confronted  with  Hall,  he  was 
driven  to  confess.  And  being  asked  in  this  audience  how  he  could  solve  this  lewd 
perjurie,  he  answered,  "  that,  so  long  as  he  thought  they  had  no  proof,  he  was  not 
bound  to  accuse  himself;  but  when  he  saw  they  had  proof,  he  stood  not  long  in 
it."  And  then  fell  into  a  large  discourse  defending  equivocation^  with  many  weak 
and  frivolous  distinctions.  The  other  example  was  of  Francis  Tresham,  who  .... 
protested  that  he  had  not  seen  him  [Garnet]  these  sixteen  years  last  past.  Whereas 
it  was  manifestly  proved  both  by  Garnet  himself,  Mrs  Vaux,  and  others,  that  he  had 
been  with  him  in  three  several  places  this  last  year,  and  once  not  many  days  before 
the  blow  should  have  been  given.  And  [Garnet]  being  now  asked  what  he  knew 
of  this  man,  he  smilingly  answered  that  he  thought  he  meant  to  equivocate.^ 

A  few  extracts  from  Garnet's  Trial,  printed  by  authority,  will  still  more  clearly 
show  that  the  perjury  and  equivocation  of  the  Jesuit  were  here  particularly  alluded 
to  by  Shakespeare. 

In  stating  the  case,  Sir  Edward  Coke,  the  Attorney  General,  observed  that, 
*.  .  .  Mr  Lockerson,  who  being  deposed  before  Garnet,  delivered  upon  his  oath 
that  they  heard  Garnet  say  to  Hall,  ♦'  They  will  charge  me  with  my  prayer  for  the 
good  success  of  the  great  action,  in  the  beginning  of  Parliament."  .  .  .  "  It  is 
true,  indeed  (said  Garnet),  that  I  prayed  for  the  good  success  of  the  great  action; 
but  I  will  tell  them  that  I  meant  it  in  respect  of  some  sharper  laws,  which  I  feared 
they  would  make  against  Catholics;  and  that  answer  will  serve  well  enough."* 
Again :  *  Garnet  having  protested  that  "  When  Father  Greenwell  made  him  ac- 
quainted with  the  whole  plot,  ...  he  was  very  much  distempered,  and  could  never 
sleep  quietly  after^\'ards,  but  sometimes  prayed  to  God  that  it  should  not  take  effect ; 
the  Earl  of  Salisbury  replied,  that  "  he  should  do  well  to  speak  clearly  of  his  devo- 
tion in  that  point,  for  otherwise  he  must  put  him  to  remember  that  he  had  confessed 
to  the  Lords  that  he  had  offered  sacrifice  to  God  for  stay  of  that  plot,  unless  it  were 
for  the  good  of  the  Catholick  causey  ^  Further:  Lord  Salisbury  reminded  Garnet, 
*  after  the  interlocution  between  him  and  Hall,  when  he  was  called  before  all  the 
lords,  and  was  asked,  not  what  he  said,  but  whether  Hall  and  he  had  conference 
together  (desiring  him  not  to  equivocate)^  how  stiffly  he  denied  it  upon  his  soul. 


DA  TE  OF  THE  PLA  K  383 

retracting  it  with  so  many  detestable  execrations,  as  the  Earl  said,  it  wounded  their 
hearts  to  hear  him ;  and  yet  as  soon  as  Hall  had  confessed  it,  he  grew  ashamed, 
cried  the  lords  mercy,  and  said  he  had  offended,  if  equivocation  did  not  help  him.* 

Here  certainly  we  have  abundant  proofs  of  *  an  equivocator  that  could  swear  in 
both  scales  against  either  scale ^  who  committed  treason  enough  for  God^s  sake,  and 
yet  could  not  equivocate  to  heaven.* 

If  it  should  be  maintaine'l  that  in  strict  reasoning  these  observations  only  prove 
that  Macbeth  was  written  subsequently  to  the  trial  of  Garnet,  it  may  be  remarked  that 
allusions  of  this  kind  are  generally  made  while  the  facts  are  yet  recent  in  the  minds 
of  the  writer  and  of  the  audience,  and  before  their  impression  has  been  weakened 
by  subsequent  events. 

The  third  circumstance  mentioned  by  the  Porter  is  that  of  *  an  English  tailor 
stealing  out  of  a  French  hose,*  the  humour  of  which,  as  Warburton  has  rightly 
remarked,  consists  in  this,  that  the  French  hose  being  then  very  short  and  strait,  a 
tailor  must  be  master  of  his  trade  who  could  steal  anything  from  them.  From  a 
passage  in  Henry  V,  and  from  other  proofs,  we  know  that  about  the  year  1597  the 
French  hose  were  very  large  and  lusty;  but  doubtless  l^twcen  that  year  and  1600 
they  had  adopted  the  fashion  here  alluded  to ;  and  we  know  that  P>cnch  fashions 
were  very  quickly  adopted  in  England.  The  following  passage  occurs  in  The  Black 
Year,  by  Anthony  Nixon,  1606 :  •  Gentlemen  this  year  shall  be  much  wronged  by  their 
taylors,  for  their  consciences  are  now  much  larger  than  ever  they  were,  for  where 
[whereas]  they  were  wont  to  steale  but  half  a  yeard  of  brood  cloth  in  making  up  a 
payre  of  breeches,  now  they  do  largely  nicke  their  customers  in  the  lace  too,  and 
take  more  than  enough  for  the  new  fashions  sake,  besides  their  old  ones.*  The 
words  in  italics  may  relate  only  to  the  lace,  but  I  rather  think  that  the  meaning  is, 
that  whereas  formerly  tailors  used  to  steal  half  a  yard  of  cloth  in  making  a  pair  of 
breeches,  they  now  cheat  in  the  lace  also;  and  steal  more  than  enough  of  the 
cloth  for  the  sake  of  making  the  breeches  close  and  tight,  agreeably  to  the  new 
fashion. 

In  July,  1606,  the  King  of  Denmark  came  to  England  on  a  visit  to  his  sister 
Queen  Anne,  and  on  the  third  of  August  was  installed  a  Knight  of  the  Garter. 
*  There  is  nothing  to  be  heard  at  court,*  says  Drummond  of  Hawthomden  in  a  letter 
dated  on  that  day,  '  but  sounding  of  trumpets,  hautbop,  musick,  revellings  and  come- 
dies.*    Perhaps  during  this  visit  Macbeth  was  first  exhibited. 

[The  date  of  Macbeth  thus  assigned  to  1606  by  Malone  was  accepted  by  Steevens, 
and  Chalmers  (the  latter  placed  it  the  twenty-eighth  in  the  order  of  composition), 
and  other  commentators,  until  the  appearance  in  1836  of  Collier's  Ne7v  Partiiu- 
lars  regarding  the  Works  of  Shakespeare,  In  this  volume  mention  is  made  of 
the  discovery  among  the  Ashmolean  MSS  of  notes  on  the  performance  of  some  of 
Shakespeare's  plays  written  by  one  who  saw  them  acted  during  the  lifetime  of  the 
poet.  These  notes]  « bear  the  following  title :  "  The  Booke  of  Plaies  and  Notes  thereof, 
*^  Formans,  for  common  Pollicie,**  and  they  were  written  by  Dr  Simtm  Forman, 
the  celebrated  Physician  and  Astrologer,  who  lived  at  Lambeth,  the  same  parish  in 
which  Elias  Ashmole  afterwards  resided.  Forman  was  implicated  in  the  murder  of 
Sir  Thomas  Overbury,  but  died  in  161 1,  before  the  trial.  .  .  .  The  last  date  in  his 
Book  of  Plays  is  the  15th  of  May,  161 1,  so  that  he  was  a  frequenter  of  the  theatres 
until  a  short  period  before  his  sudden  decease  in  a  boat  on  the  Thames.  He  was 
notorious  long  before  his  connection  with  Lady  Essex,  and  excited  a  vast  deal  of 
jealousy  on  the  part  of  the  regular  medical  practitioners  of  London,  by  giving  un> 


384  APPENDIX, 

licensed  advice  to  the  sick,  as  well  as  by  casting  nativities ;  but  he  was  at  length  able 
to  procure  a  degree  from  Cambridge.  .  .  .  The  words  "  for  common  policy  "  in  the 
title  of  Forman's  Notes  mean  that  he  made  these  remarks  upon  plays  he  saw  repre- 
sented because  they  afforded  a  useful  lesson  of  prudence  or  "  policy  *'  for  the  "  com- 
mon "  affairs  of  life.  ...  On  the  20th  of  April,  1610,  which  happened  on  a  Saturday, 
the  astrological  Doctor  was  present  at  the  performance  of  Macbeth^  the  production 
of  which  on  the  stage  Malone  fixed  in  1606.  This  may  be  the  right  conjecture,  and 
Forman  may  have  seen  the  tragedy  for  the  first  time  four  years  after  it  was  originally 
brought  out;  but  it  is  by  no  means  impossible  that  1 610  was  its  earliest  season,  and 
it  is  likely  that  in  April  that  season  had  only  just  commenced  at  the  Globe,  which 
was  open  to  the  weather ;  the  King's  Players  acted  at  the  covered  theatre  of  the 
Blackfriars  during  the  winter.  Malone's  reasoning  to  establish  that  Macbeth  was 
written  and  acted  in  1606,  is  very  inconclusive,  and  much  of  it  would  apply  just  as 
well  to  1 610.  .  .  .  [Forman's]  description  of  the  plot  oi  Macbeth  is  more  particular 
and  remarkable  than  perhaps  any  of  the  others  which  he  has  given ;  he  says : 

*"  In  Macbeth,  at  the  Globe,  1 610,  the  20th  of  April,  Saturday,  there  was  to  be 
observed,  first  how  Macbeth  and  Banquo,  two  noblemen  of  Scotland,  riding  through 
a  wood,  there  stood  before  them  three  women  Fairies,  or  Nymphs,  and  saluted  Mac- 
beth, saying  three  times  unto  him.  Hail,  Macbeth,  King  of  Codor,  for  thou  shalt  be 
a  King,  but  shalt  beget  no  Kings,  &c.  Then,  said  Banquo,  What  all  to  Macbeth 
and  nothing  to  me  ?  Yes,  said  the  Nymphs,  Hail  to  thee,  Banquo ;  thou  shalt  beget 
Kings  yet  be  no  King.  And  so  they  departed,  and  came  to  the  Court  of  Scotland 
to  Duncan  King  of  Scots,  and  it  was  in  the  days  of  Edward  the  Confessor.  And 
Duncan  bad  them  both  kindly  welcome,  and  made  Macbeth  forthwith  Prince  of 
Northumberland ;  and  sent  him  home  to  his  own  Castle,  and  appointed  Macbeth  to 
provide  for  him,  for  h^  would  sup  with  him  the  next  day  at  night,  and  did  so. 

' "  And  Macbeth  contrived  to  kill  Duncan,  and  through  the  persuasion  of  his  wife 
did  that  night  murder  the  King,  in  his  own  Castle,  being  his  guest.  And  there  were 
many  prodigies  seen  that  night  and  the  day  before.  And  when  Macbeth  had  mur- 
dered the  King,  the  blood  on  his  hands  could  not  be  washed  off  by  any  means,  nor 
from  his  wife's  hands,  which  handled  the  bloody  daggers  in  hiding  them,  by  which 
means  they  became  both  much  amazed  and  affronted. 

* "  The  murder  being  known,  Duncans  two  sons  fled,  the  one  to  England,  the 
[other  to]  Wales,  to  save  themselves :  they  being  fled,  were  supposed  guilty  of  the 
murder  of  their  father,  which  was  nothing  so. 

'"Then  was  Macbeth  crowned  King,  and  then  he  for  fear  of  Banquo,  his  old 
companion,  that  he  should  beget  kings  but  be  no  king  himself,  he  contrived  the  death 
of  Banquo,  and  caused  him  to  be  murdered  on  the  way  that  he  rode.  The  night,  being 
at  supper  with  his  noblemen  whom  he  had  bid  to  a  feast,  (to  the  which  also  Banquo 
should  have  come,)  he  began  to  speak  of  noble  Banquo,  and  to  wish  that  he  were 
there.  And  as  he  thus  did,  standing  up  to  drink  a  carouse  to  him,  the  ghost  of  Ban- 
quo  came  and  sat  down  in  his  chair  behind  him.  And  he,  turning  about  to  sit  down 
again,  saw  the  ghost  of  Banquo,  which  fronted  him,  so  that  he  fell  in  a  great  passion 
of  fear  and  fury,  uttering  many  words  about  his  murder,  by  which,  when  they  heard 
that  Banquo  was  murdered,  they  suspected  Macbeth. 

* "  Then  Macduff  fled  to  England  to  the  King's  son,  and  so  they  raised  an  army 
and  came  into  Scotland,  and  at  Dunston  Anyse  overthrew  Macbeth.  In  the  mean 
time,  while  Macduff  was  in  England,  Macbeth  slew  Macduff's  wife  and  children, 
and  after  in  the  battle  Macduff  slew  Macbeth. 


DATE  OF  THE  PLAY.  385 

* "  Observe,  also,  how  Macbeth's  Queen  did  rise  in  the  night  in  her  sleep  and 
walk,  and  talked  and  confessed  all,  and  the  Doctor  noted^  her  words." 

<  Besides  mis-spelling  some  of  the  names,  as  Mackbet,  Mackdove,  Dunston  Anyse, 
&c.,  Forman's  memory  seems  to  have  failed  him  upon  particular  points :  thus  he 
makes  the  "  Fairies  or  Nymphs  "  (znc^  Witches),  hail  Macbeth  as  **JCtng  of  Codor," 
instead  of  Thane  of  Cawdor,  and  old  Duncan  subsequently  creates  him  "  Prince  of 
Northumberland."  After  the  murder,  Forman  states  that  neither  Macbeth  nor  his 
wife  could  wash  the  blood  from  their  hands,  by  reason  of  which  they  were  both 
"  amazed  and  affronted."  If  this  were  a  mol>accordant  incident  in  the  play  in  1610, 
it  was  among  the  omissions  made  by  the  player-editors  when  it  was  published  in 
1623.' 

Collier  subsequently  somewhat  modified  his  conjecture  that  in  1610  Macbeth  was 
in  '  its  earliest  season.'  In  his  edition  {Introd.  vol.  vii,  p.  96, 1843)  Collier  says :  *  Our 
principal  reason  for  thinking  that  Macbeth  had  been  originally  represented  at  least 
four  years  before  1610,  is  the  striking  allusion  in  IV,  i,  to  the  union  of  the  three 
kingdoms  ...  in  the  hands  of  James  I.  That  monarch  ascended  the  throne  in 
March,  1602-3,  and  the  reference  to  "two-fold  balls"  and  "treble  sceptres"  would 
have  had  little  point,  if  we  suppose  it  to  have  been  delivered  after  the  king  who 
bore  the  balls  and  sceptres  had  been  more  than  seven  years  on  the  throne.  James 
was  proclaimed  king  of  Great  Britain  and  Ireland  the  24th  of  October,  1604,  and 
we  may  perhaps  conclude  that  Shakespeare  wrote  Macbeth  in  the  year  1605,  and 
that  it  was  Brst  acted  at  the  Globe,  when  it  was  opened  for  the  simimer  season  in  the 
Spring  of  1606.  .  .  .  We  are  generally  disposed  to  place  little  confidence  in  such 
passages  [as  those  cited  by  Malone  in  reference  to  the  cheapness  of  com,  and  the 
doctrine  of  equivocation],  not  only  because  they  are  frequently  obscure  in  their 
application,  but  because  they  may  have  been  introduced  at  any  subsequent  period, 
either  by  the  author  or  actor,  with  the  purpose  of  exciting  the  applause  of  the  audi- 
ence by  reference  to  some  circumstance  then  attracting  public  attention.* 

Hunter  (New  lUtis,,  ii,  153).  To  the  probabilities  [of  Malone  and  Chalmers]  I 
add  another,  which  arises  out  of  a  new,  but  I  believe  a  just,  view  of  the  import  of 
the  passage  in  I,  iii,  108.  This  passage  has  hitherto  been  taken  as  merely  meta- 
phorical ;  but  it  seems  to  me  that  Shakespeare  really  intended  that  the  robes  per- 
taining to  the  dignity  of  Thane  of  Cawdor,  to  which  Macbeth  was  just  elevated, 
should  be  produced  on  the  Stage  by  Ross  and  Angus;  that  in  fact  the  ceremony 
of  investiture  should  take  place  on  the  stage.  It  is  at  least  more  in  accordance 
with  the  turn  of  the  expression,  than  to  suppose  that  Macbeth  spoke  thus  in  mere 
metaphor. 

Now,  it  happened  that  this  ancient  ceremony  of  investiture  had  been  lately  gone 
through  by  Sir  David  Murray  on  his  being  created  Lord  Scone.  We  are  told  that 
he  *  was  with  the  greatest  solemnity  invested  in  that  honour  on  the  7th  of  April, 
1605,  by  a  special  commission,  directed  to  the  Earl  Dumfermling,  the  Lord  Chan- 
cellor, to  that  effect  The  ceremony  was  in  presence  of  the  earls  Angus,  Suther- 
land, Marischal,  Linlithgow;  the  lords  Fleming,  Drummond,  and  Thirlestane.* 
This  particular  investiture  in  a  Scottish  dignity  probably  suggested  to  Shakespeare 
the  idea  of  introducing  the  investiture  of  Macbeth  as  Thane  of  Cawdor.  The  Earl 
of  Angus,  we  see,  appears  both  in  the  play  and  in  the  actual  performance  of  the 
ceremony;  and  Sir  David  Murray,  it  may  also  be  observed,  received  the  dignity 
under  circumstances  not  very  unlike  those  under  which  Macbeth  acquired  the 
Thanedom  of  Cawdor.     He  had  a  large  share  in  saving  the  life  of  the  King  at  the 

33  Z 


386  APPENDIX. 

time  of  the  Gowrie  conspiracy,  and  the  King  gave  him  for  his  reward,  first,  the 
barony  of  Ruthven,  which  had  belonged  to  the  Earl  of  Gowrie,  and  next  the  lands 
of  Scone,  of  which  the  Earl  of  Gowrie  had  been  commendator,  and  had  lost  them 
by  treason.     *  What  he  hath  lost  noble  Macbeth  hath  won.* 

Knight.  We  can  have  no  doubt  that  this  play  belonged  to  the  last  ten  years 
of  Shakespeare's  life,  and  was  probably  not  far  separated  from  the  Roman  plays. 

Grant  White  says :  *  I  have  little  hesitation  in  referring  the  production  of 
Macbeth  to  the  period  between  October,  1604,  and  August,  1605.  I  am  the  more 
inclined  to  this  opinion  from  the  indications  which  the  play  itself  affords  that  it  was 
produced  upon  an  emergency.  It  exhibits  throughout  the  hasty  execution  of  a 
grand  and  clearly-conceived  design.  But  the  haste  is  that  of  a  master  of  his  art, 
who,  with  conscious  command  of  its  resources,  and  in  the  frenzy  of  a  grand  inspira- 
tion, works  out  his  conception  to  its  minutest  detail  of  essential  form,  leaving  the 
work  of  surface-finish  for  the  occupation  of  cooler  leisure.  What  the  Sistine  Ma- 
donna was  to  Raffael,  it  seems  that  Macbeth  was  to  Shakespeare — a  magnificent 
impromptu;  that  kind  of  impromptu  which  results  from  the  application  of  well- 
disciplined  powers  and  rich  stores  of  thought  to  a  subject  suggested  by  occasion.  I 
am  inclined  to  regard  Macbeth  as,  for  the  most  part,  a  specimen  of  Shakespeare's 
unelaborated,  if  not  unfinished,  writing,  in  the  maturity  and  highest  vitality  of  his 
genius.  It  abounds  in  instances  of  extremest  compression,  and  most  daring  ellipsis, 
while  it  exhibits  in  every  Scene  a  union  of  supreme  dramatic  and  poetic  power,  and 
in  almost  every  line  an  imperially  irresponsible  control  of  language.  Hence,  I  think, 
its  lack  of  formal  completeness  of  versification  in  certain  passages,  and  also  some 
of  the  imperfection  in  its  text,  the  thought  in  which  the  compositors  were  not  always 
able  to  follow  and  apprehend. 

Halliwell,  in  his  Folio  edition,  that  rare  treasury  of  all  that  can  archseologically 
illustrate  Shakespeare,  agrees  with  Dr  Farmer  in  the  tolerably  certain  conjecture  •  that 
this  tragedy  was  written  and  acted  before  the  year  1607,  if,  as  seems  probable,  there 
is  an  allusion  to  Banquo's  ghost  in  the  Puritan^  410, 1607  :  "  we'll  ha'  the  ghost  i'  th* 
white  sheet  sit  at  upper  end  o'  th'  table."  ' 

The  Editors  of  the  Clarendon  edition  *do  not  agree  with  some  critics  in  think- 
ing that  this  allusion  [to  "the  two-fold  balls  and  treble  sceptres"]  necessarily  implies 
that  the  play  was  produced  immediately  after  James's  accession,  because  an  event  of 
such  great  moment  and  such  permanent  consequences  would  long  continue  to  be 
present  to  the  minds  of  men.'  And  the  Porter's  reference  to  the  *  farmer  who 
hanged  himself  would  be  quite  *  as  apposite  if  we  supposed  it  to  be  made  to  the 
abundant  harvest  of  any  other  year,  and  the  Jesuit  doctrine  of  equivocation  was  at 
all  times  so  favorite  a  theme  of  invective  with  Protestant  preachers,  that  it  could  not 
but  be  familiar  to  the  public,  who  in  those  days  frequented  the  pulpit  as  assiduously 
as  the  stage.' 

After  citing  the  extract  from  Forman's  diary  the  Editors  add  that  when  the  astrolo- 
ger saw  Macbeth^  in  *  all  probability  it  was  then  a  new  play,  otherwise  he  would 
scarcely  have  been  at  the  pains  to  make  an  elaborate  summary  of  its  plot.  And  in 
those  days  the  demand  for  and  the  supply  of  new  plays  were  so  great,  that  even  the 
most  popular  play  had  not  such  a  "run"  nor  was  so  frequently  "revived"  as  at 
present.  Besides,  as  we  have  shown,  there  is  nothing  to  justify  the  inference,  still 
less  to  prove,  that  Macbeth  was  produced  at  an  earlier  date.  In  Beaumont  and 
Fletcher's  Knight  of  the  Burning  Pestle^  a  burlesque  produced  in  1611,  we  find  an 
obvious  allusion  to  the  ghost  of  Banquo.    Jasper,  one  of  the  characters,  enters  "  with 


DATE  OF  THE  PLAY.  387 

his  face  mealed,"  as  his  own  ghost.     He  says  to  Venturewell,  V,  i,  (vol.  ii,  p.  216, 

cd.  Dyce), — 

"  When  thou  art  at  thy  table  with  thy  friends, 
Merry  in  heart  and  fill'd  with  swelling  wine, 
I'll  come  in  midst  of  all  thy  pride  and  mirth. 
Invisible  to  all  men  but  thyseIC" 

This  supports  the  inference  that  Macbeth  was  in  161 1  a  new  play,  and  fresh  in  the 
recollection  of  the  audience.' 

In  Kemps  nine  dates  wonder  (p.  21,  Cam,  Soc,  ed.  by  Dyce,  1840)  the  merry  morrice 
dancer  says :  *  I  met  a  proper  vpright  youth,  onely  for  a  little  stooping  in  the  shoul- 
ders, all  hart  to  the  heele,  a  penny  Poet,  whose  first  making  was  the  miserable  stolne 
story  of  Macdoel,  or  Macdobeth,  or  Macsomewhat,  for  I  am  sure  a  Mac  it  was, 
though  I  never  had  the  maw  to  see  it.'  On  this  the  learned  Editor  remarks  that  *  this 
mention  of  a  piece  anterior  to  Shakespeare's  tragedy  on  the  same  subject  has  escaped 
the  commentators.'  Collier,  in  his  first  edition,  thought  that  this  inference  of  an  older 
piece  than  Macbeth  was  '  doubtful,  as  it  is  obvious  that  Kemp  did  not  mean  to  be 
very  intelligible ;  his  other  allusions  to  ballad-makers  of  his  time  are  purposely  ob- 
scure.' But  before  the  appearance  of  his  second  edition  in  1858,  Collier's  indefati- 
gable industry  had  discovered  another  reference  to  the  *  miserable  stolne  story.*  « It 
may  admit  of  doubt,'  he  says, '  whether  there  was  not  a  considerably  older  drama  on 
the  story  of  Macbeth^  for  we  meet  with  the  following  entry  in  the  Registers  of  the 
Stationers'  Company ;  the  notice  of  it  is,  we  believe,  quite  new,  and  we  quote  the 
very  words  of  the  register : 

*  "  27  die  Augusti  1596."  Tho.  Millington — Thomas  Millington  is  likewyse  fyned 
at  ij«  vj*  for  printinge  of  a  ballad  contrarye  to  order,  which  he  also  presently  paid. 
Md.  the  ballad  entituled  The  taming  of  a  shrew.  Also  one  other  Ballad  of  Macdo- 
beth." 

*  This  shows  the  existence  of  a  so-called  "  ballad  "  on  the  subject ;  and  if  "  The 
Taming  of  a  Shrew,"  which  we  know  to  have  been  a  play,  were  so  recorded,  it  is 
not  unlikely  that  the  **  Ballad  of  Macdobeth  "  was  of  the  same  character.  The  latter 
part  of  the  above  entry  is  struck  out,  but  it  is  not  the  less  probable  that  the  incidents 
were  then  known  to  the  stage ;  and  we  derive  some  confirmation  of  the  fact  from 
the  subsequent,  not  very  intelligible,  passage  in  Kemp's  Nine  Day^  Wonder^  printed 
in  1600 :  [as  above.]  Here  the  words  "  to  see  it "  seem  to  show  that  the  piece  had 
been  publicly  represented,  and  that  it  was  not  merely  a  printed  '*  ballad."  Kemp,  as 
a  highly  popular  actor,  would  most  naturally  refer  to  dramatic  performances ;  but,  as 
we  also  gather  from  him,  this  "  miserable  story  "  had  been  "stolen,"  and  perhaps  he 
may  mean  to  refer  to  a  pre-existing  production  of  which  the  author  of  the  play  of 
Macdobeth  had  availed  himself.' 

Malone  (vol.  ii»  pp.  419  and  440)  mentions  one  or  two  other  slight  indications 
of  the  date  of  this  play,  which  perhaps  should  not  be  here  omitted.  <  In  the  tragedy 
of  Qesar  and  Pompey,  or  Casat^s  Revenge^  are  these  lines : 

"  Why,  think  you,  lords,  that  'tis  ambitum't  s|rar 
Thait /rickeiA  Caesar  to  these  high  attempts  7" 

If  the  author  of  that  play,  which  was  published  in  1607,  should  be  thought  to  have 
Macbeth's  soliloquy  (I,  vii,  25-28)  in  view  (which  is  not  unlikely),  this  circumstance 
may  add  some  degree  of  probability  to  the  supposition  that  this  tragedy  had  appeared 
before  that  year.' 
Furthermore,  Malone  says  that  it  is  probable  that  Shakespeare  '  about  the  time  of 


388  APPENDIX, 

his  composing  Cymbeline  and  Macbeth^  devoted  some  part  of  his  leisure  to  the  read 
ing  of  the  lives  of  Caesar  and  Antony  in  North's  translation  of  Plutarch.  In  the  play 
before  us  there  are  two  passages  which  countenance  that  conjecture.  "  Under  him/* 
says  Macbeth,  "  my  genius  is  rebuk*d,  as,  it  is  said,  Mark  Antony's  was  by  Caesar." 
The  allusion  here  is  to  a  passage  in  the  Life  of  Antony ;  where  Shakespeare  also 
found  an  account  of  the  "  insane  root  that  takes  the  reason  prisoner,"  which  he  has 
introduced  in  Macbeth. 

« A  passage  in  the  8th  book  of  DanieVs  Civil  Wars  seems  to  have  been  formed  on 
one  in  this  tragedy.  [See  I,  v,  62,  and  note.]  The  seventh  and  eighth  books  of 
Daniel's  poem  were  first  printed  in  1609.' 


'THE  WITCH.' 

Towards  the  close  of  the  last  century  a  MS  copy  of  a  play  by  Thomas  Middleton 
was  discovered,  called  The  Witch,  Dyce,  in  his  edition  of  Middleton  (  Works  1840, 
vol.  iii,  p.  247,  and  in  vol.  i,  p.  1.),  says  that  copies  from  this  MS  were  printed  in 
1778  by  Isaac  Reed  for  distribution  among  his  friends.  M alone  (  Variorum  of  1 821, 
vol.  ii,  p.  420)  says  that  this  piece,  The  Witch^  had  long  remained  '  unnoticed  in  MS 
'till  it  was  discovered  in  1779  by  the  late  Mr  Steevens  in  the  collection  of  the  late 
Thomas  Pearson,  esq.*  The  question,  however,  is  now  of  little  importance  by  whom 
this  drama  of  Middleton's  was  first  discovered,  or  when  it  was  discovered;  the  simi- 
larity of  the  scenes  of  sorcery  in  The  Witch  to  those  in  Macbeth  was  manifest,  and 
to  Steevens  the  fame  of  the  discovery  is  generally  accorded,  and  the  elation  conse- 
quent thereon  goes  far  now-a-days  in  condoning  the  zeal  with  which  he  endeavored 
to  prove  that  the  greater  poet  copied  from  the  less. 

Steevens  (ed.  Malone,  vol.  i,  p.  359,  1790)  inferred  from  an  expression  in  the 

Dedication  of  The  Witch^  that  it  was  written  '  long  before  1603,'  and  that  therefore 

Shakespeare  must  have  been  the  copyist  if  Macbeth  were  not  written  until  1606,  and 

sustains  the  inference  of  plagiarism  by  adducing  the  following  examples  of  similarity 

in  the  two  dramas :  '  The  Hecate  of  Shakespeare  says  [III,  v,  20]  :  **  I  am  for  the 

air,"  &c.     The  Hecate  of  Middleton  (who  like  the  former  is  summoned  away  by 

aerial  spirits)  has  the  same  declaration  in  almost  the  same  words :  "  I  am  for  aloft," 

&c.    [Seep.  401.  Ed.]    Again,  the  Hecate  of  Shakespeare  says  to  her  sisters  [IV, 

i,  129]  : 

**  I'll  charm  the  air  to  give  a  sound. 

While  you  perform  your  antique  round,"  &c. 

"  [Mustek.     The  li^itches  dance  and  r>anisA." 

The   Hecate  of  Middleton  says  on  a  similar  occasion : 

**  Come,  my  swecte  sisters,  let  the  at're  strike  our  tune. 
Whilst  we  shew  reverence  to  yond  peeping  moone." 

*'  {Here  they  dance,  and  exeunt." 

*  In  this  play,  the  motives  which  incline  the  Witches  to  mischief,  their  manners, 
the  contents  of  their  cauldron,  &c,  seem  to  have  more  than  accidental  resemblance 
to  the  same  particulars  in  Macbeth.  The  hags  of  Middleton,  like  the  weird  sisters 
of  Shakespeare,  destroy  cattle  because  they  have  been  refused  provisions  at  farm- 
houses.    The  owl  and  the  cat  (Gray  Malkin)  give  them  notice  when  it  is  time  to 


'THE  witch:  389 

proceed  on  their  several  expeditions.    Thus  Shakespeare's  Witch :  "  Harper  cries ; — 
'tis  time,  'tis  time."     Thus  too  the  Hecate  of  Middleton : 

*•  Hec.  Heard  you  the  owle  yctt 

"  Stad.  Briefely  in  the  copps. 

"  Hic.  'Tis  high  time  for  us  then." 

*  The  Hecate  of  Shakespeare,  addressing  her  sisters,  observes,  that  Macbeth  is  but 
"  a  wayward  son,  who  loves  for  his  own  ends,  not  for  them."  The  Hecate  of  Middle- 
ton  has  the  same  observation,  when  the  youth  who  has  been  consulting  her  retires  : 
**  I  know  he  loves  me  not,  nor  there's  no  hope  on't."  Instead  of  the  "  grease  that's 
sweaten  from  the  murderer's  gibbet,"  and  the  "  finger  of  birth -strangled  babe,"  the 
Witches  of  Middleton  employ  **  the  gristle  of  a  man  that  hangs  after  sunset "  (i.  e.  of 
a  murderer,  for  all  other  criminals  were  anciently  cut  down  before  evening)  and  the 
"  fat  of  an  unbaptized  child."  They  likewise  boast  of  the  power  to  raise  tempests 
that  shall  blow  down  trees,  overthrow  buildings,  and  occasion  shipwreck ;  and,  more 
particularly,  that  they  can  "  make  miles  of  wood  walk."  Here  too  the  Grecian 
Hecate  is  degraded  into  a  presiding  witch,  and  exercised  in  superstitions  peculiar  to 
our  own  country.  So  much  for  the  scenes  of  enchantment ;  but  even  other  parts  of 
Middleton's  play  coincide  more  than  once  with  that  of  Shakespeare.  Lady  Macbeth 
says  [H,  ii,  5]  :  "  the  surfeited  grooms  Do  mock  their  charge  with  snores,  I  have 
drugged  ihe'iT /ossets:*     So  too,  Francisca,  in  the  piece  of  Middleton: 

** they're  now  all  at  rest, 

"  And  Caspar  there  and  all : — List ! — fast  asleepe ; 
"  He  cryts  it  hither.— I  must  disease*  you  strait,  sir: 
"  For  the  maide-servants,  and  the  girles  o'  the  house, 
"  I  */ic'd  them  lately  with  a  drcwxit Posset;*  &c 

'  And  Francisca,  like  Lady  Macbeth,  is  watching  late  at  night  to  encourage  the 
perpetration  of  a  murder. 

*  The  expression  which  Shakespeare  has  put  into  the  mouth  of  Macbeth  [H,  i, 
47],  "There's  no  such  thing," — is  likewise  appropriated  to  Francisca  when  she 
undeceives  her  brother,  whose  imagination  has  been  equally  abused.' 

M ALONE  was  at  first  overborne  by  these  arguments  of  Steevens's ;  but  afterwards, 
in  the  Variorum  of  1821  (vol.  ii,  pp.  425-438),  took  the  opposite  ground,  and  in  a 
long  dissertation  endeavored  to  prove,  from  internal  evidence,  that  The  Witch  *  must 
have  been  produced  after  1 613,'  'and  if  so,  it  can  have  no  claim  to  contest  prece 
dence  with  Macbeth,  which  unquestionably  was  acted  in  1606.' 

Dyce,  in  his  account  of  Middleton  (IVorks,  vol.  i,  p.  lii,  1840),  says:  'Though 
his  [Malone's]  reasoning  appears  to  me  very  far  from  convincing,  I  am  by  no 
means  disposed  to  assert  that  the  conclusion  at  which  he  so  laboriously  arrived  is 
not  the  right  one  [viz.,  that  the  performance  of  Macbeth  in  1606  was  anterior  to  The 
IVitch"].  Giflord,  indeed,  has  unhesitatingly  pronounced  that  Shakespeare  was  the 
copyist ;  f  but,  notwithstanding  the  respect  which  I  entertain  for  that  critic,  his  inci- 
dental remarks  on  the  present  question  have  little  weight  with  me;  he  has  assigned 
no  grounds  for  his  decision ;  he  had  not,  I  apprehend,  considered  the  suljject  with 
much  attention ,  and  on  two  occasions,  at  least,  he  appears  to  have  alluded  to  it 

*  This  word  also  occurs  near  the  end  of  the  preceding  scene :  '  I'll  have  that  care  I'll  not  disease 
him  much.'    Compftre  Macbeth,  V,  iii.  91.  Ed. 

t  Introd.  to  Massinger's  IVorks,  vol.  2,  p.  liv,  ed.  18x3.  Again,  note  in  Jonson's  IVorks,  vol. 
vi,  p  98a;  and  vol.  vii,  p.  1x5.  I  ought  to  mention,  that  when  Giflford  threw  out  these  remarks, 
Malone  had  not  declared  his  ultimate  opinion  on  the  subject.    Dvcb. 

33* 


390  APPENDIX, 

chiefly  for  the  sake  of  giving  additional  force  to  the  blows  which  he  happened  to  be 
aiming  at  the  luckless  *•  commentators.'*  As  Shakespeare  undoubtedly  possessed  the 
creative  power  in  its  utmost  perfection,  and  as  no  satisfactory  evidence  has  been 
adduced  to  show  that  The  Witch  was  acted  at  an  earlier  period  than  Macbeth^  he 
must  not  be  hastily  accused  of  imitation.  Yet  since  he  is  known  to  have  frequently 
remodelled  the  works  of  other  writers,  it  may  be  urged  that  when  he  had  to  intro- 
duce witches  into  his  tragedy,  he  would  hardly  scruple  to  borrow  from  [Middleton's] 
play  as  much  as  suited  his  immediate  purpose.  But,  after  all,  there  is  an  essential 
difference  between  the  hags  of  Shakespeare  and  of  Middleton;  and  whichever  of 
the  two  may  have  been  the  copyist,  he  owes  so  little  to  his  brother-poet  that  the  debt 
will  not  materially  affect  his  claim  to  originality.  Concerning  the  tragi-comedy,  Tfu 
fViUh,  I  have  only  to  add  that  its  merit  consists  entirely  in  the  highly  imaginative 
pictures  of  preternatural  agents,  in  their  incantations  and  their  moonlight  revelry  : 
the  rest  of  it  rises  little  above  mediocrity.' 

Like  Gifford,  Lamb  too  had  not  seen  Malone's  proof  that  The  Wiich  was  subse- 
quent in  date  to  Macbeth ,  when  in  1808  he  published  his  Specimens  of  English  Dra- 
matic PoetSy  yet  Ms  poetic  insight  clearly  discerned  the  *  essential  differences  *  between 
the  Weird  Sisters  and  The  Witch.  *  Though  some  resemblance  may  be  traced  between 
the  Charms  in  Macbeth  and  the  Incantations  in  this  Play  [Middleton's  JVitch,  in  Dra- 
matic Poets,  p.  152,  Bohn's  ed.  1854],  which  is  supposed  to  have  preceded  it,  this  coin- 
cidence will  not  detract  much  from  the  originality  of  Shakespeare.  His  witches  are 
distinguished  from  the  witches  of  Middleton  by  essential  differences.  These  are 
creatures  to  whom  man  or  woman  plotting  some  dire  mischief  might  resort  for  occa- 
sional consultation.  /Those  originate  deeds  of  blood,  and  begin  bad  impulses  to  men. 
From  the  moment  that  their  eyes  first  meet  with  Macbeth's,  he  is  spell-bound.  That 
meeting  sways  his  destiny.  Pie  can  never  break  the  fascination.  These  witches 
can  hurt  the  body ;  those  have  power  over  the  soul.  Hecate,  in  Middleton,  has  a 
son,  a  low  buffoon :  the  hags  of  Shakespeare  have  neither  child  of  their  own,  nor 
seem  descended  from  any  parent.  They  are  foul  Anomalies,  of  whom  we  know  not 
whence  they  are  sprung,  nor  whether  they  have  beginning  or  ending.  As  they  are 
without  human  passions,  so  they  seem  to  be  without  human  relations.  They  come 
with  thunder  and  lightning,  and  vanish  to  airy  music.  This  is  all  we  know  of 
them.  Except  Hecate,  they  have  no  names;  which  heightens  their  mysteriousness. 
Their  names,  and  some  of  the  properties,  which  Middleton  has  given  to  his  hags, 
excite  smiles.  The  Weird  Sisters  are  serious  things.  Their  presence  cannot  co- 
exist with  mirth.  But  in  a  lesser  degree,  the  Witches  of  Middleton  are  fine  crea- 
tions. Their  power,  too,  is,  in  some  measure,  over  the  mind.  They  raise  jars, 
jealousies,  strifes,  like  a  thick  scurf  o^er  lifeJ' 

Collier  (First  edition,  1843)  says  in  reference  to  Malone's  conviction  that  The 
Witch  was  a  play  written  subsequently  to  the  production  of  Macbeth  :  '  Those  who 
read  the  two  will,  perhaps,  wonder  how  a  doubt  could  have  been  entertained ;' 
« what  must  surprise  everybody  is  that  a  poet  of  Middleton's  rank  could  so  degrade 
the  awful  beings  of  Shakespeare's  invention;  for  although,  as  Lamb  observes,  *'  the 
power  of  Middleton's  witches  is  in  some  measure  over  the  mind,"  they  are  of  a 
degenerate  race,  as  if,  Shakespeare  having  created  them,  no  other  mind  was  suffi- 
ciently gifted  to  continue  their  existence.' 

Hudson  (1856)  says :  •  Malone  has  perhaps  done  all  the  case  admits  of  to  show 
that  The  Witch  was  not  written  before  1613;  but  in  truth,  there  is  hardly  enough  to 
ground  an  opinion  upon  one  way  or  the  other.     And  the  question  may  be  safely  dis 


'THE  witch:  391 

missed  as  altogether  vain ;  for  the  two  plays  have  nothing  in  common  but  what  may 
well  enough  have  been  derived  from  Scot's  Discovery  of  Witchcraft,  or  from  the 
floating  witchcraft  lore  of  the  time,  some  relics  of  which  have  drifted  down  in  the 
popular  belief  to  a  period  within  our  remembrance.* 

Grant  White  (1861).  'Shakespeare  would  not  have  hesitated  a  moment  about 
imitating  Middleton,  or  any  other  writer,  had  it  suited  his  purpose  to  do  so;  but  I 
believe  the  Scenes  in  The  Witch  to  be  the  imitations,  not  only  because  they  have  the 
air,  at  once  timid,  constrained,  and  exaggerated,  which  indicates  in  every  art  a  copy 
by  a  very  much  inferior  hand,  but  because  witchcraft  was  an  essential  motive  power 
in  the  very  story  which  Shakespeare  had  chosen  to  dramatise.  And  witchcraft  being 
thus  inherent  in  his  plot,  and  the  superstitions  of  his  day  furnishing  him  ample  mate- 
rial with  which  to  fulfil  this  indication, — exactly  the  material  too  which  he  used, — I 
cannot  believe  that,  with  his  wealth  of  creative  power,  he  would  ever  have  thought 
of  going  to  the  work  of  a  younger  dramatist  for  the  mere  supernatural  costume  with 
which  to  dress  out  such  mysterious  and  unique  creatures  of  his  imagination  as  the 
three  weird  sisters  of  this  tragedy.* 

To  the  instances  of  similarity  between  The  Witch  and  Macbeth,  given  by  Steevens, 
Messrs.  Clark  and  Wright  {Clarendon  Press  Series,  p.  viii,  1869)  add  the  follow- 
ing :  *  the  innocence  of  sleep*  (p.  316,  Dyce's  ed.)  and  *  1*11  rip  thee  down  from  neck 
to  navel'  (p.  319,  ib.),  which  recall  Macbeth,  II,  ii,  36,  and  I,  ii,  22 

*We  have  no  means  of  ascertaining  the  date  of  Middleton's  play.  We  know 
that  he  survived  Shakespeare  eleven  years,  but  that  he  had  acquired  a  reputation 
as  early  as  1600,  because  in  England^ 5  Parnassus,  published  in  that  year,  a  poem 
is  by  mistake  attributed  to  him.  (See  Dyce's  account  of  Middleton,  Works,  vol.  i, 
p.  xiv.) 

*  If  we  were  certain  that  the  whole  of  Macbeth,  as  we  now  read  it,  came  from 
Shakespeare's  hand,  we  should  be  justified  in  concluding  from  the  data  before  us, 
that  Middleton,  who  was  probably  junior  and  certainly  inferior  to  Shakespeare,  con- 
sciously or  unconsciously  imitated  the  great  master.  But  we  are  persuaded  that  there 
are  parts  of  Macbeth  which  Shakespeare  did  not  write,  and  the  style  of  these  seems 
to  us  to  resemble  that  of  Middleton.  It  would  be  very  uncritical  to  pick  out  of 
Shakespeare's  works  all  that  seems  inferior  to  the  rest,  and  to  assign  it  to  somebody 
else.  At  his  worst,  he  is  still  Shakespeare ;  and  though  the  least  "  mannered  *'  of  all 
poets,  he  has  always  a  manner  which  cannot  well  be  mistaken.  In  the  parts  of  Meu- 
beth  of  which  we  speak  we  find  no  trace  of  this  manner.  But  to  come  to  particulars. 
We  believe  that  the  second  scene  of  the  first  act  was  not  written  by  Shakespeare. 
Making  all  allowance  for  corruption  of  text,  the  slovenly  metre  is  not  like  Shakes- 
peare's work,  even  when  he  is  most  careless.  The  bombastic  phraseology  of  the 
sergeant  is  not  like  Shakesf>eare's  language  even  when  he  is  most  bombastic.  What 
is  said  of  the  thane  of  Cawdor,  lines  52,  53,  is  inconsistent  with  what  follows  in 
scene  iii,  lines  72,  73,  and  112  sqq.  We  may  add  that  Shakespeare's  good  sense 
would  hardly  have  tolerated  the  absurdity  of  sending  a  severely  wounded  soldier  to 
carry  the  news  of  a  victory. 

*  In  the  first  thirty-seven  lines  of  the  next  scene,  powerful  as  some  of  them  are, 
especially  18-23,  we  do  not  recognise  Shakespeare*s  hand;  and  surely  he  never 
penned  the  feeble  "tag,**  II,  i,  61. 

*  Of  the  commencement  of  the  third  scene  of  the  second  act,  Coleridge  said  long 
ago  2  "  That  he  believed  the  low  soliloquy  of  the  Porter,  in  II,  iii,  to  have  been 
written  for  the  mob  by  some  other  hand." 


392  APPENDIX, 

'  If  the  fifth  scene  of  act  III  had  occurred  in  a  drama  not  attributed  to  Shakes- 
peare, no  one  would  have  discovered  in  it  any  trace  of  Shakespeare's  manner. 

*  The  rich  vocabulary,  prodigal  fancy,  and  terse  diction  displayed  in  IV,  i,  1-38, 
show  the  hand  of  a  master,  and  make  us  hesitate  in  ascribing  the  passage  to  any  one 
but  the  master  himself.  There  is,  however,  a  conspicuous  falling-off  in  lines  39-47, 
after  the  entrance  of  Hecate. 

<  In  III,  V,  13,  it  is  said  that  Macbeth  "  loves  for  his  own  ends,  not  for  you  ;'*  but 
in  the  play  there  is  no  hint  of  his  pretending  love  to  the  witches.  On  the  contrary, 
he  does  not  disguise  his  hatred.  "  You  secret,  black,  and  midnight  hags !"  he  calls 
them.     Similarly,  IV,  i,  125-132,  cannot  be  Shakespeare's. 

'  In  IV,  iii,  140-159,  which  relate  to  the  touching  for  the  evil,  were  probably  inter- 
polated previous  to  a  representation  at  Court. 

*  We  have  doubts  about  the  second  scene  of  act  V. 

*  In  V,  V,  47-50  are  singularly  weak,  and  read  like  an  unskilful  imitation  of  other 
passages,  where  Macbeth's  desperation  is  interrupted  by  fits  of  despondency.  How 
much  better  the  sense  is  without  them  ! 

*  In  V,  viii,  32,  33,  the  words,  «*  Before  my  body  I  throw  my  warlike  shield,"  are 
also,  we  think,  interpolated. 

<  Finally,  the  last  forty  lines  of  the  play  show  evident  traces  of  another  hand  than 
Shakespeare's.  The  double  stage  direction,  **  Exeunt^  fighting** — **  Enter  fighting , 
and  Macbeth  slaine**  proves  that  some  alteration  had  been  made  in  the  conclusion 
of  the  piece.  Shakesf>eare,  who  has  inspired  his  audience  with  pity  for  Lady  Mac- 
beth, and  made  them  feel  that  her  guilt  has  been  almost  absolved  by  the  terrible 
retribution  which  followed,  would  not  have  disturbed  this  feeling  by  calling  her  a 
'< fiend-like  queen";  nor  would  he  have  drawn  away  the  veil  which  with  his  fine 
tact  he  had  dropt  over  her  fate,  by  telling  us  that  she  had  taken  ofi"  her  life  "  by  self 
and  violent  hands." 

*  We  know  that  it  is  not  easy  to  convince  readers  that  such  and  such  passages  are 
not  in  Shakespeare's  manner,  because  their  notion  of  Shakespeare's  manner  is  partly 
based  on  the  assumption  that  these  very  passages  are  by  Shakespeare.  Assuming, 
however,  that  we  have  proved  our  case  so  far,  how  are  we  to  account  for  the  intrusion 
of  this  second  and  inferior  hand  ?  The  first  hypothesis  which  presents  itself  is  that 
Shakespeare  wrote  the  play  in  conjunction  with  Middleton  or  another  as  "  collabora- 
teur."  We  know  that  this  was  a  very  common  practice  with  the  dramatists  of  his 
time.  It  is  generally  admitted  that  he  assisted  Fletcher  in  the  composition  of  The 
Two  Noble  Kinsmen  ;  and  Mr  Spedding  has  shown,  conclusively  as  we  think,  that 
Fletcher  assisted  him  in  the  composition  of  Henry  VIII. 

*  We  might  suppose,  therefore,  that  after  drawing  out  the  scheme  of  Macbeth, 
Shakespeare  reserved  to  himself  all  the  scenes  in  which  Macbeth  or  Lady  Macbeth 
appeared,  and  left  the  rest  to  his  assistant.  We  must  further  suppose  that  he  largely 
retouched,  and  even  re-wrote  in  places,  this  assistant's  work,  and  that  in  his  own  work 
his  good  nature  occasionally  tolerated  insertions  by  the  other.  But,  then,  how  did  it 
happen  that  he  left  the  inconsistencies  and  extravagances  of  the  second  scene  of  the 
first  act  uncorrected  ? 

*  On  the  whole,  we  incline  to  think  that  the  play  was  interpolated  after  Shakes- 
peare's death,  or  at  least  after  he  had  withdrawn  from  all  connection  with  the  theatre. 
The  interpolator  was,  not  improbably,  Thomas  Middleton ;  who,  to  please  the 
"  groundlings,"  expanded  the  parts  originally  assigned  by  Shakespeare  to  the  weird 


'THE  WITCH.'  393 

sisters,  and  also  introduced  a  new  character,  Hecate.    The  signal  inferiority  of  her 
sf>eeches  is  thus  accounted  for.' 


All  the  witch-scenes  from  Middleton's  *  tragi-coomodie '  are  here  subjoined.  I 
had  originally  intended  to  give  an  exact  reprint  from  a  copy  in  my  possession  pre- 
sented to  *Hy,  Ftiselifrom  the  Editor  George  Stevens  *  (sic,  and  therefore  clearly  not 
in  the  autograph  of  Steevens),  but  Dyce,  in  his  preliminary  remarks  to  the  play  in 
his  edition  of  Middleton,  says  that  from  a  collation  of  the  original  MS  in  the  Bod- 
leian Library  with  the  above  reprint  of  1778,  the  latter  was  found  to  be  not  without 
some  errors  and  omissions.  I  decided  therefore  to  give  Dyce's  text,  together  with 
his  valuable  footnotes,  except  such  as  record  the  variations  of  the  text,  which,  how- 
ever necessary  in  an  edition  of  Middleton,  would  not,  I  think,  possess  any  interest 
in  the  present  copy  of  MacdetA,* 

ACT  I.     SCENE  II. 
TAe  abode  of  Hecate. 

Enter  Hecate.  « 

Hec.  Titty  and  Tiffin,  Suckin  and  Pigen,  Liard  and  Robin !  white 
spirits,  black  spirits,  grey  spirits,  red  spirits!  devil-toad,  devil-ram, 
devil-cat,  and  devil-dam!  why,  Hoppo  and  Stadlin,  Hellwain  and 
Puckle ! 

Stad,  \within'\  Here,  sweating  at  the  vessel. 

Hec,  Boil  it  well. 

Hop,  \within'\  It  gallops  now. 

Hec,  Are  the  flames  blue  enough  ? 
Or  shall  I  use  a  little  seething  more  ? 

Stcui,  [zvi'Miif]  The  nips  of  fairies*  upon  maids'  white  hipt 
Are  not  more  perfect  azure. 

Hec,  Tend  it  carefully. 
Send  Stadlin  to  me  with  a  brazen  dish, 
That  I  may  fall  to  work  upon  these  serpents, 
And  squeeze  *em  ready  for  the  second  hour : 
Why,  when  ?  3 

*  The  copy  from  Dyce  was  obligingly  prepared  for  the  press  by  my  friend,  J.  Parker  Norris, 
cKq.  Ed. 

X  MS  has,  •Enter  Heceai:  amd  other  Wiiches  {with  PrcperiUt,  €uut  HabUU  fitting.)'  I  had 
originally  prefixed  to  this  scene,  *A  Cave:  Necate  diecttoered  in  front  ^the  ttage:  Siadtin,  H^po^ 
other  witches,  and  Firestone,  in  am  inner  cave,  where  a  eaidron  it  boiling: '  but  Hecate  does  not 
set  the  caldron;  and  as  we  shall  presently  find  that  Almachildes  (Tide  p.  399.  Eo.)  b  on  the  point  of 
falling  into  it,  before  he  meets  with  Hecate,  it  could  not  have  been  placed  in  an  inner  cave. 
9  This  passage  is  explained  by  the  following  lines  of  Browne : 

'  where  oft  the  Fairy •Queene 
At  twy4igfat  sate,  and  did  command  her  Elues 
To  pinch  those  Maids  that  had  not  swept  their  shelues :  .  .  . 
Or  if  they  spread  no  Table,  set  no  Bread, 
They  should haue  nips  from  toe  vnto  the  head.'— 

Britannia's  Pastorals,  b.  I,  song  ii,  p.  41,  ed.  1625. 
3  a^y,  when"]  A  frequent  expression  of  impatience. 


394  APPENDIX. 

Enter  Stadun  with  a  dish. 

Stad.  Here's  Stadlin  and  the  dish. 

Hec»  There,  take  this  unbaptised  brat ;  4 

\Giving  the  dead  body  of  a  child. 
Boil  it  well ;  preserve  the  fat : 
You  know  'tis  precious  to  transfer 
Our  'nointed  flesh  into  the  air, 
In  moonlight  nights,  on  steeple-tops, 
Mountains,  and  pine-trees,  that  like  pricks  or  stops 
Seem  to  our  height ;  high  towers  and  roofs  of  princes 
Like  wrinkles  in  the  earth ;  whole  provinces 
Appear  to  our  sight  then  even  leek  5 
A  russet  mole  upon  some  lady's  cheek. 
When  hundred  leagues  in  air,  we  feast  and  sing, 
Dance,  kiss,  and  coll,  ^  use  every  thing  : 
What  young  man  can  we  wish  to  pleasure  us, 
But  we  enjoy  him  in  an  incubus  ? 
Thou  know'st  it,  Stadlin  ? 

Stad,  Usually  that's  done. 

Hec.  Last  night  thou  got'st  the  mayor  of  Whelplie's  1  son ; 
I  knew  him  by  his  black  cloak  lin'd  with  yellow ; 
I  think  thou'st  spoil'd  the  youth,  he's  but  seventeen : 
I'll  have  him  the  next  mounting.     Away,  in : 
Go,  feed  the  vessel  for  the  second  hour. 

Stad.  Where  be  the  magical  herbs  ? 

Hec»  They're  down  his  throat ;  * 
His  mouth  cramm'd  full,  his  ears  and  nostrils  stuff'd. 
I  thrust  in  eleoselinum  lately, 
Aconitum,  frondes  populeas,  and  soot — 
You  may  see  that,  he  looks  so  b[l]ack  i'  th*  mouth — 
Then  slum,  acorum  vulgare  too, 


4  Here,  and  in  the  next  three  speeches  of  Hecate,  Middleton  follows  Reginald  Scot,  using  some- 
times the  very  words  of  that  curious  writer.  In  the  Discoutrie  0/  Witchcraft ^  Scot  gives  from  'John 
Bapt.  Neap.,*  i.e..  Porta,  the  following  receipts  for  the  miraculous  transportation  of  witches: 
•  R.  Th*  /at  0/ yoong  children,  and  s*eth  it  with  water  in  a  brazen  vessel! ^  reseruing  the  thickest 
of  that  which  remaineth  boiled  in  the  bottome,  which  they  laie  vp  and  keepe,  vntil  occassion  serueth 
to  vsc  it.  They  put  herevnto  Eleoselinum ,  Aconitum,  frondes  ^o^uleas,  and  soote*  *  R.  Sium^ 
acarum  vulgar* ,  pentaphyllon ,  the  bloud  0/ a  flitter-tnouse ,  solanum  somni/erum  et  oleum.  They 
stampe  all  these  togither,  and  then  they  rubbe  all  p.irts  of  their  bodies  exceedinglie,  till  they  looke 
red  and  be  verie  hot,  so  as  the  pores  may  be  opened  and  their  flesh  soluble  and  loose.  They  ioine 
herewithall  either  fat  or  oile  in  steed  thereof,  that  the  force  of  the  ointment  male  the  rather  pearse 
inwardly,  and  so  be  more  effectual.  By  this  means  (saith  he)  in  a  moone  light  night  they  seem*  to  be 
carried  in  the  aire,  to  /easting,  singing,  dansing,  kissing,  culling,  and  other  acts  0/  venerie,  with 
such  youthes  as  thry  loue  and  desire  most'  &c.  B.  x,  c.  viii,  p.  184,  ed.  1584. — See  the  original 
of  this  in  Porta's  Magite  Naturalis,  siv*  De  Miraculis  Rerum  Naturalium  Libri  WW,  1561,  i2mo, 
p.  180.    Porta  omitted  the  passage  in  (at  least  some)  later  and  enlarged  editions  of  his  work. 

5  i.  e.  like— for  the  sake  of  the  rhyme. 

6  i.  c.  embrace,  or  clasp  round  the  neck. 

7  What  place  is  meant  by  this  word  I  know  not. 

8  i.  e.  the  dead  child's. 


*THE  WITCH.'  395 

Pentaphyllon,  the  blood  of  a  fiitter-mouse,9 
Solanum  somniHcum  et  oleum. 

Stad,  Then  there's  all,  Hecate. 

Hec,  Is  the  heart  of  wax 
Stuck  full  of  magic  needles  ? 

Stad,  'Tis  done,  Hecate. 

Hec.  And  is  the  farmer's  picture  and  his  wife's 
Laid  down  to  th'  fire  yet  ? 

Stad,  They're  a-roasting  both  too. 

Hec,  Good  \Exit  Siadlin] ;  then  their  marrows  are  a*melting  subtly, 
And  three  months'  sickness  sucks  up  life  in  'em. 
They  denied  me  often  flour,  barm,  and  milk, 
Goose-grease  and  tar,  when  I  ne'er  hurt  their  chumings, 
Their  brew-locks,  nor  their  batches,  nor  forespoke 
Any  of  their  breedings.     Now  I'll  be  meet'®  with  *em : 
Seven  of  their  young  pigs  I've  bewitched  already. 
Of  the  last  litter; 

Nine  ducklings,  thirteen  goslings,  and  a  hog. 
Fell  lame  last  Sunday  after  even-song  too ; 
And  mark  how  their  sheep  prosper,  or  what  sup 
Each  milch-kine  gives  to  th'  pail :  I'll  send  these  snakes 
Shall  milk  'em  all 

Beforehand ;  the  dew-skirted  dairy- wenches 
Shall  stroke  dry  dugs  for  this,  and  go  home  cursing ; 
I'll  mar  their  sillabubs  and  swathy  feastings" 
Under  cows'  bellies  with  the  parish-youths. 
Where's  Firestone,  our  son  Firestone  ? 

Enter  FiiLESTONB. 

Fire.  Here  am  I,  mother. 

Hec.  Take  in  this  brazen  dish  full  of  dear  ware :  [  Gives  dish. 

Thou  shalt  have  all  when  I  die ;  and  that  will  be 
Even  just  at  twelve  a' clock  at  night  come  three  year. 

Fire,  And  may  you  not  have  one  a' clock  in  to  th'  dozen,  mother  ? 

Hee,  No. 

Fire,  Your  spirits  are,  then,  more  unconscionable  than  bakers. 
You'll  have  lived  then,  mother,  sixscore  year  to  the  hundred;  and 
methinks,  after  sixscore  years,  the  devil  might  give  you  a  cast,  for  he's 
a  fruiterer  too,  and  has  been  from  the  beginning ;  the  first  apple  that 
e'er  was  eaten  came  through  his  fingers :  the  costermonger's,"  then,  I 
hold  to  be  the  ^ncientest  trade,  though  some  would  have  the  tailor 
pricked  down  before  him. 

Hec,  Go,  and  take  heed  you  shed  not  by  the  way ; 
The  hour  must  have  her  portion:  'tis  dear  sirup; 
Each  charmed  drop  is  able  to  confound 

*  Or,>fiblrrvmo«ne— I.  e.  bat.  *"  i.  e.  even. 

"  i.  e.  (I  suppose)  feMdngs  among  the  nvviMj^-thc  mown  rows  of  grass. 

^  i.  e.  apple-seUer's. 


396  APPENDIX. 

A  family  consisting  of  nineteen 
Or  onc-and-twenty  feeders. 

Fire»  Marry,  here's  stuff  indeed ! 
Dear  sirup  call  you  it  ?  a  little  thing 
Would  make  me  give  you  a  dram  on*t  in  a  posset, 
And  cut  you  three  years  shorter.  \A5ide, 

Hec,  Thou  art  now 
About  some  villany. 

Fire,  Not  I,  forsooth. — 
Truly  the  deviPs  in  her,  I  think :  how  one  villain  smells  out  another 
straight  1  there's  no  knavery  but  is  nosed  like  a  dog,  and  can  smell  out 
a  dog*s  meaning.  [Asidf.'] — Mother,  I  pray,  give  me  leave  to  ramble 
abroad  to-night  with  the  Nightmare,  for  I  have  a  great  mind  to  over- 
lay a  fat  parson's  daughter. 

Ifec,  And  who  shall  lie  with  me,  then  ? 

Pirf.  The  great  cat 
For  one  night,  mother ;  'tis  but  a  night : 
Make  shift  with  him  for  once. 

Iffc.  You're  a  kind  son ! 
But  'tis  the  nature  of  you  all,  I  see  that ; 
You  had  rather  hunt  after  strange  women  still 
Than  lie  with  your  own  mothers.     Get  thee  gone ; 
Sweat  thy  six  ounces  out  about  the  vessel, 
And  thou  shalt  play  at  midnight ;  the  Nightmare 
Shall  call  thee  when  it  walks. 

Pire,  Thanks,  most  sweet  mother.  \^£xif, 

Hec,  Urchins,  Elves,  Hags,  Satyrs,  Pans,  Fawns,  Sylvans,«s  Kitt- 
with-the-candlestick,  Tritons,  Centaurs,  Dwarfs,  Imps,  the  Spoo[r]n, 
the  Mare,  the  Man-i'-th'-oak,  the  Hellwain,  the  Fire-drake,  the  Puckle ! 
A  ab  hur  has ! 

Enter  SEBASTIAN, 
Seb.  Heaven  knows  with  what  unwillingness  and  hate 

x3  Here  again  Middlcton  borrows  from  Reginald  Scot :  'And  they  hauc  so  fraicd  vs  with  bull  beg- 
gcrs,  spiriu,  witches,  vrchens,  eiuet,  hag^s,  fairies,  satyrs ,  pans , /aunes ^  sylens  fsylvans]  kit  with  the 
cansticktf  tritons, centaur Sfduar/eSfgiAnxs,  imps,  calcars,  coniurors,  nymphes,  changlings.  Incubus, 
Robin  good-fellowe,  the  spoome,  the  mare,  the  man  in  the  oke,  the  hell  xvaine^  the Jierdrake ^  the 
puckle,  Tom  thombe,  hob  gobblin,  Tom  tumbler,  boneles,  and  such  other  bugs,  that  we  are  afraid 
of  our  owne  shadowes.'  Discouerie  0/  Witchcraft,  b.  vii,  c.  xv,  p.  153,  ed.  1584. — Sir  W.  Scott,  hav- 
ing given  the  above  quotation  from  the  work  of  his  namesake,  observes  :  '  It  would  require  a  better 
dcmonologist  than  I  am  to  explain  the  various  obsolete  superstitions  which  Reginald  Scot  has  intro> 
duced,  as  articles  of  the  old  English  faith,  into  the  preceding  passage.  I  might  indeed  say,  the  Phuca 
is  a  Celtic  superstition,  from  which  the  word  Pook,  or  Puckle,  was  doubtless  derived ;  and  I  might 
conjecture,  that  the  man-in-thc>oak  was  the  same  with  the  Erl-Konig  of  the  Germans  ;  and  that  the 
hellwain  were  a  kind  of  wandering  spirits,  the  descendants  of  a  champion  named  Hellequin,  who  arc 
introduced  into  the  romance  of  Richard  sans  Peur,  But  most  antiquarians  will  be  at  fault  concem> 
ing  the  spoorn,  Kitt-with-the-candlcstick,  Boneless,  and  some  others.'  Letters  on  Demonology,  &c, 
p.  174,  sec.  ed. — Whatever  'Hellwain'  may  be  properly,  Middleton  meant  to  express  by  the  term 
some  individual  spirit :  [see  p.  393.  Ed.]  and  the  3d  scene  of  act  iii. — The  words  with  which  Hecate 
concludes  this  speech,  '  A  ab  hur  bus  1'  are  also  borrowed  from  R.  Scot's  work,  b.  xii,  c.  xiv,  p.  244, 
«here  they  are  mentioned  as  a  charm  against  the  toothache. 


*THE  witch:  397 

I  enter  this  damn*d  place :  but  such  extremes 

Of  wrongs  in  love  fight  'gainst  religion's  knowledge, 

That  were  I  led  by  this  disease  to  deaths 

As  numberless  as  creatures  that  must  die, 

I  could  not  shun  the  way.     I  know  what  'tis 

To  pity  madmen  now ;  they're  wretched  things 

That  ever  were  created,  if  they  be 

Of  woman's  making,  and  her  faithless  vows. 

I  fear  they're  now  a-kissing:  what's  a' clock? 

*Tis  now  but  supper-time,  but  night  will  come. 

And  all  new-married  couples  make  short  suppers. — 

Whate'er  thou  art,  I've  no  spore  time  to  fear  thee ; 

My  horrors  are  so  strong  and  great  already. 

That  thou  seemest  nothing.     Up,  and  laze  not : 

Hadst  thou  my  business,  thou  couldst  ne'er  sit  so ; 

'Twould  firk  thee  into  air  a  thousand  mile. 

Beyond  thy  ointments.     I  would  I  were  read 

So  much  in  thy  black  power  as  mine  own  griefs ! 

I'm  in  great  need  of  help ;  wilt  give  me  any  ? 

Hec,  Thy  boldness  takes  me  bravely ;  we're  all  sworn 
To  sweat  for  such  a  spirit :  see,  I  regard  thee ; 
I  rise  and  bid  thee  welcome.    What's  thy  wish  now  ? 

.S^^.  O,  my  heart  swells  with't !     I  must  take  breath  first. 

Hec,  Is't  to  confound  some  enemy  on  the  seas  ? 
It  may  be  done  to-night :  Stadlin's  within ;  ^ 
She  raises  all  your  sudden  ruinous  storms, 
That  shipwreck  barks,  and  tear  up  growing  oaks, 
Fly  over  houses,  and  take  Anno  Domini  'S 
Out  of  a  rich  man's  chimney — a  sweet  place  for 't ! 
He'd  be  hang'd  ere  he  would  set  his  own  years  there ; 
They  must  be  chamber* d  in  a  five-pound  picture, 
A  green  silk  curtain  drawn  before  the  eyes  on't ; 
His  rotten,  diseas'd  years !— or  dost  thou  envy 
The  fat  prosperity  of  any  neighbour  ? 
I'll  call  forth  Hoppo,  and  her  incantation 
Can  straight  destroy  the  young  of  all  his  cattle ; 
Blast  vineyards,  orchards,  meadows ;  or  in  one  night 
Transport  his  dung,  hay,  com,  by  reeks,  ^  whole  stacks. 
Into  thine  own  ground. 

Seb,  This  would  come  most  richly  now 


u  From  R.  Scot :  '  It  is  constantlie  aflElnned  in  M.  Mai.  that  Stafus  vsed  alwaies  to  hide  himselfe 
in  a  motuhoall  [mouse-hole],  and  had  a  disciple  called  Hoppo,  who  made  Stadlin  a  maister  witch, 
and  could  all  when  they  list  inuisiblie  transferre  the  third  part  of  their  neighbours  doong,  hay,  come, 
&c.  into  their  owne  ground,  make  haile,  tempests,  and  flouds,  with  thunder  and  lightning;  and  kill 
children,  cattell,  &c. :  reueale  things  hidden,  and  many  other  tricks,  when  and  where  they  list.'  DU' 
coutrit  qf  WUchcre^ftt  b.  xii,  c.  v,  p.  999,  ed.  1584. — See  Sprenger's  Malleus  Male/icarum,  Pars  Sec 
quaest.  i,  cap.  xv,  p.  367,  ed.  1576,  where  the  name  Siadi0,  not  Stadlim,  is  found ;  but  the  latter  occun 
at  p.  a  10. 

ts  i.  e.  the  date  of  the  house,  fi^uestly  affixed  to  old  buildings. 

x6  i.  e.  ricks. 

34 


398 


APPENDIX. 

To  many  a  country  grazier ;  but  my  envy 
Lies  not  so  low  as  cattle,  com,  or  vines : 
*Twill  trouble  your  best  powers  to  give  me  ease. 

Hec»  Is  it  to  starve  up  generation  ? 
To  strike  a  barreness  in  man  or  woman  ? 

Seb,  Hah! 

Hec.  Hah,  did  you  feel  me  there  ?     I  knew  your  gnef. 

Seb.  Can  there  be  such  things  done  ? 

Hec.  Are  these  the  skins 
Of  serpents  ?  these  of  snakes  ? 

Seb.  I  see  they  are. 

Hec.  So  sure  into  what  house  these  are  conveyM, 

[Giving serpent-skins,  &*€.  to  Sebastian, 
Knit  with  these  charms  «T  and  retentive  knots, 
Neither  the  man  begets  nor  woman  breeds. 
No,  nor  performs  the  least  desires  of  wedlock, 
Being  then  a  mutual  duty.     I  could  give  thee 
Chirocineta,  ^  adincantida, 
Archimedon,  marmaritin,  calicia. 
Which  I  could  sort  to  villanous  barren  ends ; 
But  this  leads  the  same  way.     More  I  could  instance ; 
As,  the  same  needles  thrust  into  their  pillows 
That  sew  and  sock  up  dead  men  in  their  sheets ; 
A  privy  gristle  of  a  man  that  hangs 
After  sunset ;  good,  excellent ;  yet  alPs  there,  sir. 

Seb.  You  could  not  do  a  man  that  special  kindness 
To  part  *em  utterly  now  ?  could  you  do  that  ? 

Hec.  No,  time  must  do't :  we  cannot  disjoin  wedlock ; 
*Tis  of  heaven's  fastening.     Well  may  we  raise  jars. 
Jealousies,  strifes,  and  heart-burning  disagreements, 
Like  a  thick  scurf  o'er  life,  as  did  our  master 
Upon  that  patient  miracle;  »9  but  the  work  itself 
Our  power  cannot  disjoint. 

Seb.  I  depart  happy 
In  what  I  have  then,  being  constrained  to  this. — 
And  grant,  you  greater  powers  that  dispose  men, 
That  I  may  never  need  this  hag  agen  !»  [Asitle^  and  exit. 

Hec.  I  know  he  loves  me  not,"  nor  there's  no  hope  on't ; 
'Tis  for  the  love  of  mischief  I  do  this, 
And  that  we're  sworn  to  the  first  oath  we  take. 


17  Written  in  MS,  *  cJiarmes*     It  is  used  as  a  dissyllable  in  another  scene. 

18  From  R.  Scot :  *  Pythagoras  and  Dcmocritus  pue  vs  the  names  of  a  great  many  magical! 
hcarbs  and  stones,  whereof  now  both  the  vertue  and  ibe  things  themselues  also  are  vnknowne :  as 
Marmaritin,  whereby  spirits  might  be  raised  :  Archimedon^  which  would  make  one  bewraie  in  his 
sleepe  all  the  secrets  in  his  heart :  Adincantida,  Calicia,  Mcuais,  Chirocineta,  &c. :  which  all  h^d 
*hcir  seuerall  vertues,  or  rather  poisons.'    Discoiieri*  0/  IVitchcraft,  b.  vi,  c.  iii,  p.  X17,  cd.  1584. 

19  i.e..  Job. 

»  The  old  spelling  of  again^  and  necessary  here  for  the  rhyme. 
8<  See  Stcevens's  remarks,  p.  389.  Ed. 


'THE  witch:  399 

Re-enter  Firestone. 

Fire,  O,  mother,  mother  I 

Hec,  What's  the  news  with  thee  now  ? 

Fire,  There's  the  bravest**  young  gentleman  within,  and  the  fineli- 
est  drunk !  I  thought  be  would  have  fallen  into  the  vessel ;  he  stum- 
bled at  a  pipkin  of  child's  grease ;  reeled  against  Stadlin,  overthrew 
her,  and  in  the  tumbling-cast  struck  up  old  Puckle's  heels  with  her 
clothes  over  her  ears. 

Hec,  Hoydayl 

Fire,  I  was  fain  to  throw  the  cat  upon  her  to  save  her  honesty,  and 
all  little  enough ;  I  cried  out  still,  I  pray,  be  covered.«3  See  where  he 
comes  now,  mother. 

Enter  Almachildes. 

Aim,  Call  you  these  witches  ?  they  be  tumblers,  methinks, 
Very  flat  tumblers. 

Hec,  *Tis  Almachildes — fresh  blood  stirs  in  me — 
The  man  that  I  have  lusted  to  enjoy ; 
I've  had  him  thrice  in  incubus  already.  \Aside, 

Aim,  Is  your  name  Goody  Hag  ? 

Hec,  'Tis  any  thing : 
Call  me  the  horrid'st  and  unhallow'd  things 
That  life  and  nature  tremble  at,  for  thee 
I'll  be  the  same.     Thou  com'st  for  a  love-charm  now  ? 

Aim,  Why,  thou'rt  a  witch,  I  think. 

Hec,  Thou  shalt  have  choice  of  twenty,  wet  or  dry. 

Aim,  Nay,  let's  have  dry  ones. 

Hec,  If  thou  wilt  use 't  by  way  of  cup  and  potion, 
I'll  give  thee  a  remora  shall  bewitch  her  straight. 

Aim,  A  remora?  what's  that? 

Hec,  A  little  suck-stone ; 
Some  call  it  a  sea-lamprey,  a  small  fish. 

Aim,  And  must  be  butter' d  ? 

Hec,  The  bones  of  a  green  frog  too,  wondrous  precious 
The  flesh  consum'd  by  pismires. 

Aim,  Pismires  ?  give  me  a  chamber-pot  I 

Fire,  You  shall  see  him  go  nigh  to  be  so  unmannerly,  he'll  make 
water  before  my  mother  anon.  \Aside, 

Aim,  And  now  you  talk  of  frogs,  I've  somewhat  here; 
'  I  come  not  empty-pocketed  from  a  banquet, 
I  learn' d  that  of  my  haberdasher's  wife : 
Look,  goody  witch,  there's  a  toad  in  marchpane^  for  yon. 

\Gives  marchpane, 

Hec,  O  sir,  you've  fitted  me  I 

•B  f.  e.  finellest  dressed. 

■3  I  may  just  otwenre,  that  In  the  language  of  the  time,  these  words  meant,  properly,— put  on 
jrour  hat. 

94  See  Rom  &•  ^ul,  I,  r,  7,  where  a  contemporary  receipt  for  making  mmrck/atu  is  given.  Ed. 


400  APPENDIX. 

Aim,  And  here's  a  spawn  or  two 
Of  the  same  paddock-brood  too,  for  your  son. 

[Gives  other  pieces  of  marchpane. 

Fire,  I  thank  your  worship,  sir :  how  comes  your  handkercher 
So  sweetly  thus  beray'd  ?«s  sure  *tis  wet  sucket,"*  sir. 

Aim,  'Tis  nothing  but  the  sirup  the  toad  spit ; 
Take  all,  I  prithee. 

Hec,  This  was  kindly  done,  sir; 
And  you  shall  sup  with  me  to-night  for  this. 

Aim,  How  ?  sup  with  thee  ?  dost  think  I'll  eat  fried  rats 
And  pickled  spiders  ? 

Hec,  No ;  I  can  command,  sir, 
The  best  meat  i*  th*  whole  province  for  my  friends. 
And  reverently  serv*d  in  too. 

Aim,  How? 

Hec,  In  good  fashion. 

Aim.  Let  me  but  see  that,  and  I'll  sup  with  you. 

\HeccUe  conjures  ;  and  enter  a  Cat  playing  on  a 
fiddle^  and  Spirits  with  meat. 
The  Cat  and  Fiddle's  an  excellent  ordinary : 
You  had  a  devil  once  in  a  fox-skin  ? 

Hec,  O,  I  have  him  still :  come,  walk  with  me  sir. 

\Exeunt  all  except  Firestone, 

Fire,  How  apt  and  ready  is  a  drunkard  now  to  reel  to  the  devil ! 
Well,  I'll  even  in  and  see  how  he  eats ;  and  I'U  be  hanged  if  I  be  not 
the  fatter  of  the  twain  with  laughing  at  him.  [Exit, 

ACT  III.     SCENE  in. 

A  Field, 

Enter  Hecate,  Stadlin,  Hoppo,  and  other  Witches;  Firestone  in 

the  background, 

Hec.  The  moon's  a  gallant ;  see  how  brisk  she  rides  ! 

Stad.  Here's  a  rich  evening,  Hecate. 

Hec.  Ay,  is't  not,  wenches. 
To  take  a  journey  of  five  thousand  mile  ? 

Hop.  Ours  will  be  more  to-night. 

Hec.  O  'twill  be  precious ! 
Heard  you  the  owl  yet?«7 

Stad.  Briefly  in  the  copse. 
As  we  came  through  now. 

Hec.  'Tis  high  time  for  us  then. 

Stad.  There  was  a  bat  hung  at  my  lips  three  times 
As  we  came  through  the  woods,  and  drank  her  fill : 
Old  Puckle  saw  her. 

»S  i.  e.  befouled,  96  i.  c.  sweetmeat. 

•7  See  Steeveiu's  remarks  on  p.  389.  Eo. 


*THE  witch:  401 

Hec,  You  are  fortunate  still ; 
The  very  screech-owl  lights  upon  your  shoulder 
And  woos  you,  like  a  pigeon.     Are  you  fumlshM  ? 
Have  you  your  ointments  ? 

Siad.  All. 

Hec.  Prepare  to  flight  then ; 
I'll  overtake  you  swiftly. 

Stad,  Hie  thee,  Hecate ; 
We  shall  be  up  betimes. 

Hec,  I'll  reach  you  quickly. 

\^ExeufU  all  the  Witches  except  Hecate, 

Fire.  They  are  all  going  a-birding  to-night;  they  talk  of  ibwls 
i'  Ih'  air  that  fly  by  day ;  I  am  sure  they'll  be  a  company  of  foul  sluu 
there  to-nig)it :  if  we  have  not  mortality  after't,  I'll  be  hanged,  for 
they  are  able  to  putrefy  it,  to  infect  a  whole  region.  She  spies  me 
now. 

Hec,  What,  Firestone,  our  sweet  son  ? 

Fire,  A  little  sweeter  than  some  of  you,  or  a  dunghill  were  too  good 
for  me.  {Aside, 

Hec,  How  much  hast  here  ? 

Fire.  Nineteen,  and  all  brave  plump  ones. 
Besides  six  lizards,  and  three  serpentine  eggs. 

Hec.  Dear  and  sweet  boy  1  what  herbs  hast  thou  ? 

Fire,  I  have  some  marmartin  and  mandragon. 

Hec.  Marmaritin  and  mandragora,  thou  wouldst  say. 

Fire,  Here's  panax  too— I  thank  thee — my  pan  aches,  I'm  sure, 
With  kneeling  down  to  cut  'em. 

Hec,  And  selago. 
Hedge-hyssop  too :  how  near  he  goes  my  cuttings ! 
Were  they  all  cropt  by  moonlight  ? 

Fire,  Every  blade  of  'em. 
Or  I'm  a  moon-calf,  mother. 

Hec,  Hie  thee  home  with  'em : 
Look  well  to  the  house  to-night ;  I*m  for  aloft. 

Fire,  Aloft,  quoth  you?  I  would  you  would  break  your  neck 
once,  that  I  might  have  all  quickly !  [Aside,'] — Hark,  hark,  mother! 
they  are  above  the  steeple  already,  flying  over  your  head  with  a  noise  * 
of  musicians. 

Hec,  They're  they  indeed.     Help,  help  me ;  I'm  too  late  else. 

Song-  above,  •» 
Come  away,  come  away, 
Hecate,  Hecate,  come  away  I 

Hec.  I  come,  I  come,  I  come,  I  come, 

aB  i.e.  company. 

99  In  D'avenant's  alteration  of  Maebeth  [see  p.  337.  Ed.],  this  passage  Is  inserted,  with  some 
variations.  It  is  so  highly  fanciful,  and  comes  in  so  happily  where  D'avenant  has  placed  it,  that  one 
is  alm'ost  tempted  to  believe  it  was  written  by  Shakespeare,  and  had  been  omitted  in  the  printed 
copies  ot  his  play.  Till  the  MS  of  The  Witch  was  discovered,  the  passage  in  question  was  of  eourse 
supposed  to  be  the  composition  of  D'avenant. 

34*  2  A 


402  APPENDIX. 

With  all  the  speed  I  may, 
With  all  the  speed  I  may. 
Where's  Stadlin  ? 
[  Voice  above J\  Here. 
Hec.  Where's  Puckle? 
[  Voice  above, '\  Here ; 

And  Hoppo  too,  and  liellwain  too ; 
We  lack  but  you,  we  lack  but  you ; 
Come  away,  make  up  the  count. 
Hec.  I  will  but  'noint,  and  then  I  mount. 

\A  Spirit  like  a  cat  descends. 
[  Voice  above."]  There's  one  comes  down  to  fetch  his  dues, 
A  kiss,  a  coll,  a  sip  of  blood ; 
And  why  thou  stay'st  so  long 
I  muse,  I  muse. 
Since  the  air's  so  sweet  and  good. 
J/ec,  O,  art  thou  come  ? 

What  news,  what  news  ? 
Spirit,  All  goes  still  to  our  delight : 
Either  come,  or  else 
Refuse,  refuse. 
Hec.  Now  I'm  fumish'd  for  the  flight. 

Fire,  Hark,  hark,  the  cat  sings  a  brave  treble  in  her  own  language ! 
Hec.  [jgoing  up]  Now  I  go,  now  I  fly, 
Malkin  my  sweet  spirit  and  I. 
O  what  a  dainty  pleasure  'tis 
To  ride  in  the  air 
When  the  moon  shines  fair, 
And  sing  and  dance,  and  toy  and  kiss ! 
Over  woods,  high  rocks,  and  mountains. 
Over  seas,  our  mistress'  fountains. 
Over  steepao  towers  and  turrets. 
We  fly  by  night,  'mongst  troops  of  spirits : 
No  ring  of  bells  to  our  ears  sounds. 
No  howls  of  wolves,  no  yelps  of  hounds ; 
No,  not  the  noise  of  water's  breach. 
Or  cannon's  throat  our  height  can  reach. 

[  Voices  above.]  No  ring  of  bells,  &*c. 
Fire,  Well,  mother,  I  thank  your  kindness :  you  must  be  gambol- 
ling i'  th'  air,  and  leave  me  to  walk  here  like  a  fool  and  a  mortal. 

\Exii, 
ACT  V.     SCENE  H. 

The  Abode  of  Hecate  :  a  caldron  in  the  centre. 

Enter  Duchess t  Hecate,  and  Firestone. 

Hec,  What  death  is't  you  desire  for  Almachildes  ? 

3»  D'avenant  gives, 

*Ov€r  steeples,  tmvers^  and  turrets* 

which  I  suspect  is  the  true  reading:  compare  what  Hecate  says  [at  p.  394.  Ed.], 

'  Tn  nirvnnlio'ht'  nicrhrc    nn  tt^^Al^^tnht  *  Rrf 


'  In  moonlight  nights,  on  steepU-tops  *  &c. 


'THE  WITCH.'  403 

Duck.  A  sudden  and  a  subtle. 

Hec,  Then  I've  fitted  you. 
Here  lie  the  gifts  of  both ;  sudden  and  subtle : 
His  picture  made  in  wax,  and  gently  molten 
By  a  blue  fire  kindled  with  dead  men's  eyes, 
Will  waste  him  by  degrees. 

Duck.  In  what  time,  prithee  ? 

Hec.  Perhaps  in  a  moon's  progress. 

Duck,  What,  a  month  ? 
Out  upon  pictures,  if  they  be  so  tedious ! 
Give  me  things  with  some  life. 

Hec.  Then  seek  no  farther. 

Duck.  This  must  be  done  with  speed,  dispatch'd  this  nighr. 
If  it  may  possible. 

Hec.  I  have  it  for  you ; 
Here's  that  will  do't;  stay  but  perfection's  time. 
And  that  not  five  hours  hence. 

Duck.  Canst  thou  do  this  ? 

Hec.  Can  I  ? 

Duck.  I  mean,  so  closely. 

Hec.  So  closely  do  you  mean  too  I 

Duck.  So  artfully,  so  cunningly. 

Hec.  Worse  and  worse ;  doubts  and  incredulities  ! 
They  make  me  mad.     Let  scrupulous  creatures  know 
Cum  volui,^  ripis  ipsis  miranHbuSt  amnes 
In  forties  rediere  suos  ;  conatssetque  sis/o, 
Stantia  concutio  caniu  freta  ;  nubila  pello, 
Xubilaque  induco  ;  ventos  abigoque  vocaque  ; 
Vipereas  rumpo  verbis  et  carmitu  fauces  ; 
Et  sihas  mcveo;  jubeoque  tremiscere  motUes, 
Et  mugire  solum,  manesque  exire  sepulckris. 
Te  [quo"]  que,  luna,  trako.    Can  you  doubt  me  then,  daughter. 
That  can  make  mountains  tremble,  miles  of  woods  walk, 
Whole  earth's  foundation  bellow,  and  the  spirits 
Of  the  entomb'd  to  burst  out  from  their  marbles. 
Nay,  draw  yond  moon  to  my  involv'd  designs  ? 

Fire.  I  know  as  well  as  can  be  when  my  mother's  mad,  and  our 

great  cat  angry,  for  one  spits  French  then,  and  th'  other  spits  Latin. 

\Asuli, 
Duck.  I  did  not  doubt  you,  mother. 

Hec.  No  I    What  did  you  ? 
My  power's  so  firm,  it  is  not  to  be  question'd. 

Duck,  Forgive  what's  past :  and  now  I  know  th'  offensiveness 
That  vexes  art,  I'll  shun  th'  occasion  ever. 

3<  Ovid,  Met.  vii,  199,  where  the  first  line  is  'Quonim  ope,  cum  volui,  ri/is  miranHb$u  amnes:* 
but  I  find  it  quoted,  as  in  our  text,  by  Corn.  Agrippa,  Occuii.  Philos.  lib.  i,  cap.  Ixxii,  p.  113.  Opp. 
t.  i.  ed.  Lugd. ;  by  R.  Scot,  Duc0uerie  0/  IVitckem/t^  1.  xii,  c.  vii,  p.  935,  ed.  1584 ;  and  by  Bodinus, 
ZV  Ma^omm  Dttmonomania,  lib.  ii,  cap.  ii,  p.  130,  ed.  1590.  From  the  last-mentioned  work,  indeed, 
Middleton  seems  to  have  transcribed  the  passage,  since  he  omits,  as  Bodinus  does,  a  line  after  'Vi- 
ptreat  rumpo^  &c. 


404  APPENDIX. 

Hec,  Leave  all  to  me  and  my  five  sisters,  daughter : 
It  shall  be  convey'd  in  at  howlet-time ; 
Take  you  no  care :  my  spirits  know  their  moments ; 
Raven  or  screech-owl  never  fly  by  th*  door 
But  they  call  in — I  thank  'em — and  they  lose  not  by*t ; 
I  give  'em  barley  soak'd  in  infants*  blood ; 
They  shall  have  semina  cum  sanguine ^ 
Their  gorge  cramm'd  full,  if  they  come  once  to  our  house ; 
We  are  no  niggard.  \^ExU  Duchess. 

Fire,  They  fare  but  too  well  when  they  come  hither ;  they  eat  up 
as  much  t'other  night  as  would  have  made  me  a  good  conscionable 
pudding. 

Hec,  Give  me  some  lizard's-brain ;  quickly,  Firestone. 

[Firestone  brings  the  different  ingredients /or  the  charm,  as 
Hecate  calls  for  them. 
Where's  grannam  Stadlin,  and  all  the  rest  o'  th'  sisters  ? 

Fire.  All  at  hand,  forsooth. 

Enter  Stadlin,  Hoppo,  and  other  JVitches. 

Hec»  Give  me  marmaritin,  some  bear-breech :  when  ?  3» 
Fire.  Here's  bear-breech  and  lizard's-brain,  forsooth. 
Hec.  Into  the  vessel ; 
And  fetch  three  ounces  of  the  red-hair'd  girl 
I  kiird  last  midnight. 
Fire.  Whereabouts,  sweet  mother  ? 
Hec.  Hip ;  hip  or  flank.     Where  is  the  acopus  ?  » 
Fire.  You  shall  have  acopus,  forsooth. 
Hec.  Stir,  stir  about,  whilst  I  begin  the  charm. 

Black  spirits  and  white,  red  34  spirits  and  gray, 
Mingle,  mingle,  mingle,  you  that  mingle  may ! 
Titiy,  Tiffin, 
Keep  it  stiff  in ; 
Firedrake,  Puckey, 
Make  it  lucky ; 
Liard,  Robin, 
You  must  bub  in. 
Round,  around,  around,  about,  about ! 
All  ill  come  running  in,  all  good  keep  out ! 
First  Witch.  Here's  the  blood  of  a  bat. 
Hec.  Put  in  that,  O,  put  in  that ! 
Sec.  Witch.  Here's  liljbard's-bane. 
Hec.  Put  in  again  !  3S 

3a  See  Notes  on  p.  393.  Ed. 

33  I  am  uncertain  about  the  meaning  of  this  word.  Pliny  mentions  an  herb,  and  also  a  stone, 
called  acopos  :  see  Hist.  Nat.  lib.  xxvii,  cap.  iv,  t.  ii,  p.  423,  and  lib.  xxxvii,  cap.  x,  t.  ii,  p.  787,  cd. 
Hard.  1723. 

34  Rowe,  in  Macbeth,  IV,  i,  changed  this  to  Blue,  and  was  followed  by  Pope,  Theobald,  Hanmer, 
VVarburton,  Johnson,  Jennens,  Stcevens  1773  and  1778.     *  Red'  was  restored  by  Steevens,  1785,    Ed. 

J5  D'avenant  gives  '  a  grain ' — a  specious  reading,  but  not,  I  believe,  the  true  one. 


THE  TEXT.  405 

First  Witch,  The  juice  of  toad,  the  oil  of  adder. 

Sec.  Witch,  Those  will  make  the  younker  madder. 

Hec,  Put  in — ^there's  all — and  rid  the  stench. 

Fire.  Nay,  here's  three  ounces  of  the  red-hair'd  wench. 

All  the  Witches,  Round,  around,  around,  &c. 

Hec.  So,  so,  enough :  into  the  vessel  with  it. 
There,  't  hath  the  true  perfection.     I'm  so  light 
At  any  mischief  I  there's  no  villainy 
But  is  a  tune,  methinks.     « 

Fire,  A  tune?  'tis  to  the  tune  of  damnation  then,  I  warrant  you, 
and  that  song  hath  a  villainous  burthen.  \A5ide, 

Hec.  Come,  my  sweet  sisters ;  let  the  air36  strike  our  tune. 
Whilst  we  shew  reverence  to  yond  peeping  moon. 

[  They  dance  the  Witches*  Dance^  and  exeunt* 


THE  TEXT. 


•The  Tragedie  of  Macbeth'  was  first  printed  in  the  Folio  of  1623,  where  it 
occupies  twenty-one  pages:  from  p.  131  to  p.  151,  inclusive,  in  the  division  of 
Tragedies^  between  yulius  Casar  and  Hamlet,  The  Acts  and  Scenes  are  all  there 
indicated. 

Collier.  We  may  presume,  as  in  other  similar  cases,  that  it  had  not  come  from 
the  press  at  an  earlier  date,  because  in  the  books  of  the  Stationers'  Company  it  is 
registered  by  Blount  and  Jaggard,  on  the  8th  of  November,  1623,  as  one  of  the  plays 
'  not  formerly  entered  to  other  men.' 

Hunter  (ii,  152).  The  numerous  corrections  (decidedly  and  unquestionably  so) 
made  by  the  editors  of  F,,  and  the  numerous  other  deviations  of  the  text  of  F^,  show 
that  the  original  editors  performed  their  duty  in  a  very  imperfect  manner,  and  that 
therefore  there  is  just  room  for  ^  bolder  conjectural  criticism  on  this  play  than  per- 
haps on  any  other ;  neither  can  the  variations  of  F^  from  F,  be  alwajrs  accepted  as 
improvements  or  authoritative  determinations  of  the  true  text. 

Cambridge  Editors.  Except  that  it  is  divided  into  Scenes,  as  well  as  Acts,  it  is 
one  of  the  worst  printed  of  all  the  plays,  especially  as  regards  the  metre,  and  not  a 
few  pas.sages  are  hopelessly  corrupt. 

Clarendon.  Probably  it  was  printed  from  a  transcript  of  the  author's  MS,  which 
was  in  great  part  not  copied  from  the  original,  but  written  to  dictation.  This  is  con- 
firmed by  the  fact  that  several  of  the  most  palpable  blunders  are  blunders  of  the  ear 
and  not  of  the  eye. 


36  See  Steeveiui's  rcmaiics  on  p.  388.  Ed. 


406  APPENDIX. 


COSTUME. 

Knight.  *  It  would  be  too  much,  perhaps,  to  affirm,'  says  Skene  in  The  High' 
landers  of  Scotland^  *  that  the  dress  as  at  present  worn,  in  all  its  minute  details,  is 
ancient ;  but  it  is  very  certain  that  it  is  compounded  of  three  varieties  in  the  form  of 
dress  which  were  separately  worn  by  the  Highlanders  of  the  seventeenth  century, 
and  that  each  of  these  may  be  traced  back  to  the  remotest  antiquity.*  These  are  : 
First,  The  belted  plaid ;  Second,  The  short  coat  of  jacket ;  Third,  The  truis.  With 
each  of  these,  or  at  any  rate  with  the  first  two,  was  worn,  from  the  earliest  periods  to 
the  seventeenth  century,  the  long-sleeved,  saffron-stained  shirt,  of  Irish  origin,  called 

Leni-croich With  regard  to  another  hotly  disputed  point  of  Scottish  costume, 

the  colours  of  the  chequered  cloth,  commonly  called  tartan  and  plaid  (neither  of 
which  names,  however,  originally  signified  its  variegated  appearance,  the  former 
being  merely  the  name  of  the  woollen  stuff  of  which  it  was  made,  and  the  latter 
that  of  the  garment  into  which  it  was  shaped),  the  most  general  belief  is,  that 
the  distinction  of  the  clans  by  a  peculiar  pattern  is  of  comparatively  a  recent  date ; 
but  those  who  deny  *  a  coat  of  many  colours  *  to  the  ancient  Scottish  Highlander 
altogether,  must  as  unceremoniously  strip  the  Celtic  Briton  or  Belgic  Gaul  of  his 
tunic  *  flowered  with  various  colours  in  divisions,'  in  which  he  has  been  specifically 
arrayed  by  Diodorus  Siculus.  The  chequered  cloth  was  termed  in  Celtic,  breacan, 
and  the  Highlanders,  we  are  informed  by  Mr  Logan,  in  his  History  of  the  Gael^  s^ve 
it  also  the  poetical  appellation  of  cath-dathy  signifying  *  the  strife,*  or  *  war  of  colours.* 
In  Major's  time  (15 12)  the  plaids,  or  cloaks,  of  the  higher  classes  alone  were  varie- 
gated. The  common  people  appear  to  have  worn  them  generally  of  a  brown  colour, 
*  most  near,'  says  Moniepennie,  *  to  the  colour  of  the  hadder '  (heather).  Martin,  in 
1 7 16,  speaking  of  the  female  attire  of  the  Western  Isles,  says  the  ancient  dress,  which 
is  yet  worn  by  some  of  the  vulgar,  called  arisad,  is  a  white  plaid,  having  a  few  small 
stripes  of  black,  blue,  and  red.  The  plain  black  and  white  stuff,  now  generally 
known  in  London  by  the  name  of  *  Shepherd's  plaid,*  is  evidently,  from  its  sim- 
plicity, of  great  antiquity,  and  could  have  been  most  easily  manufactured,  as  it  re- 
quired no  process  of  dyeing,  being  composed  of  the  two  natural  colours  of  the  fleece. 
Defoe,  in  his  Memoirs  of  a  Cavalier y  describes  the  plaid  worn  in  1 639  as  'striped 
across,  red  and  yellow;'  and  the  portrait  of  Lacy  the  actor,  painted  in  Charles  II's 
time,  represents  him  dressed  for  Sawney  the  Scot  in  a  red,  yellow,  and  black  truis, 
and  belted  plaid,  or,  at  any  rate,  in  a  stuff  of  the  natural  yellowish  tint  of  the  wool, 
striped  across  with  black  and  red. 

For  the  armour  and  weapons  of  the  Scotch  of  the  llth  century  we  have  rather 
more  distinct  authority.  The  Sovereign  and  his  Lowland  Chiefs  appear  early  to  have 
assumed  the  shirt  of  ring-mail  of  the  Saxon ;  or,  perhaps,  the  quilted  panzar  of  their 
Norwegian  and  Danish  invaders ;  but  that  some  of  the  Highland  chieftains  disdained 
such  defence  must  be  admitted  from  the  well-known  boast  of  the  Earl  of  Strathearne, 
as  early  as  1 138,  at  the  Battle  of  the  Standard  :  *  I  wear  no  annour,*  exclaimed  the 
heroic  Gael,  *  yet  those  who  do  will  not  advance  beyond  me  this  day.*  It  was  in- 
deed the  old  Celtic  fashion  for  soldiers  to  divest  themselves  of  almost  every  portion 
of  covering  on  the  eve  of  combat,  and  to  rush  into  battle  nearly,  if  not  entirely, 
naked. 

The  ancient  Scottish  weapons  were  the  bow,  the  spear,  the  claymore  (cledheamh- 
more),  the  battle-axe,  and  the  dirk,  or  bidag,  with  round  targets,  covered  with  bull's- 


IVAS  SHAKESPEARE  EVER  IN  SCOTLAND?        407 

hide,  and  studded  with  nails  and  bosses  of  brass  or  iron.  For  the  dress  and  arms 
of  the  Anglosaxon  auxiliaries  of  Malcolm  the  Bayeux  tapestry  furnishes  perhaps  the 
nearest  authority. 

The  Scottish  female  habit  seems  to  have  consisted,  like  that  of  the  Saxon,  Nor- 
man, and  Danish  women, — nay,  we  may  even  add  the  ancient  British, — of  a  long 
robe,  girdled  round  the  waist,  and  a  full  and  flowing  mantle,  fastened  on  the  breast 
by  a  large  buckle,  or  brooch  of  brass,  silver  or  gold,  and  set  with  common  crystals, 
or  precious  gems,  according  to  the  rank  of  the  wearer.  Dion  Cassius  describes 
Boadicea  as  wearing  a  variegated  robe ;  and  the  ancient  mantle  worn  by  Scotch- 
women is  described  by  Martin  as  chequered  and  denominated  the  arisad. 

J.  R.  PLANCHfe  (British  Costume,  1846,  p.  345).  The  hair  before  marriage  was 
uncovered,  the  head  bound  by  a  simple  fillet  or  snood,  sometimes  a  lock  of  con- 
siderable length  hanging  down  on  each  side  of  the  face,  and  ornamented  with  a 
knot  of  ribands, — a  Teutonic  fashion.  When  privileged  to  cover  it,  the  curch, 
curaichdy  or  breid  of  linen,  was  put  on  the  head  and  fastened  under  the  chin,  fall- 
ing in  a  tapering  form  on  the  shoulders. 

White.  The  costume  must  of  necessity  be  the  Highland  garb ;  but  it  should  be 
presented  in  as  rudimentary  a  condition  as  possible.  For  not  only  is  the  modem 
Highland  costume  an  artistic  compilation  and  elaboration  not  many  centuries  old, 
though  of  elements  themselves  indigenous  and  ancient,  but  its  purposed  and  pavonic 
picturesqueness  is  somewhat  inconsistent  with  the  rugged  and  primitive  social 
aspect  of  this  drama,  and  the  simplicity  of  the  motives  which  produce  its  action. 

Fitzgerald  (Life  of  Garrick,  vol.  i,  p.  224).  As  in  the  other  tragedies,  [Gar- 
rick]  had  not  yet  [1747]  thought  of  breaking  through  the  old  conventional  style  of 
dress,  and  the  audience  saw  the  famous  Scotch  thane  wearing  a  scarlet  coat  like  a 
military  oflficer,  a  waistcoat  laced  with  silver,  with  a  wig  and  breeches  of  the  cut  of 
the  time.  Not  yet  had  the  bold  innovator  Macklin,  in  his  old  age,  thought  of  bring- 
ing forward  the  tartan  and  kilt. 

[In  neither  of  the  two  lives  of  Macklin  (Kirkman's,  and  Cooke's)  that  I  have 
examined  do  I  find  any  fuller  record  of  the  costume  adopted  by  *  the  bold  inno- 
vator '  than  that  given  above  by  Mr  Fitzgerald.  Mention  is  merely  made  that  Mack- 
lin performed  Macbeth  when  he  was  upward  of  seventy  years  old  (he  lived  to  be 
one  hundred  and  seven,  it  is  said),  in  about  the  year  1772,  and  adopted  the  tartan 
and  kilt,  and  made  great  changes  in  the  scenery,  &c.  Ed.] 


WAS  SHAKESPEARE  EVER  IN  SCOTLAND? 

M ALONE  (vol.  ii,  p.  416,  ed.  182 1).  Guthrie  asserts  in  his  History  of  Scotland  that 
King  James,  *  to  prove  how  thoroughly  he  was  emancipated  from  the  tutelage  of 
his  clergy,  desired  Queen  Elizabeth,  in  the  year  1599,  to  send  him  a  company  of 
English  comedians.  She  complied,  and  James  gave  them  a  license  to  act  in  his 
capital  and  in  his  court.  I  have  great  reason  to  think,*  adds  the  historian,  *  that  the 
immortal  Shakespeare  was  of  the  number.*     If  Guthrie  had  any  ground  for  this 


408  APPENDIX. 

assertion,  why  was  it  not  stated?  It  is  extremely  improbable  that  Shakespeare 
should  have  left  London  at  this  period.  In  1599  his  Henry  V  was  produced,  and 
without  doubt  acted  with  great  applause. 

Collier  (Annals  of  the  Stage,  vol.  i,  p.  344,  1 831)  says  that  *it  has  been  sup- 
posed by  some  that  Shakespeare  was  a  member  of  this  company  [that  arrived  in 
Edinburgh  in  1599],  and  that  he  even  took  his  description  of  Macbeth's  castle  from 
local  observation.  No  evidence  can  be  produced  either  way,  excepting  Malone^s 
conjecture '  in  reference  to  the  production  0/  Henry  V  in  that  year. 

Knight  (Biography,  &c.,  p.  415,  1S43,  ^^^  ^^^  I^^^*  P*  4^0,  1865)  endeavors  to 
prove  that  Shakespeare  did  visit  Scotland,  but  not  in  the  year  mentioned  by  Guthrie. 
The  latter  <  evidently  founded  his  statement  upon  a  passage  in  Spottiswood's  History 
of  the  Church  of  Scotland,*  in  which  the  appearance  of  the  company  of  English 
comedians  is  put  <in  the  end  of  the  year.'  [1599.]  That  this  could  not  have  been 
Shakespeare's  company  Knight  finds  *  decisive  evidence  *  *  in  the  Registers  of  the 
Privy  Council  and  the  Office  Books  of  the  Treasurers  of  the  Chamber,*  wherein  it  is 
stated  that  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  servants  performed  before  Queen  Elizabeth  on 
the  26th  of  December,  1599.  But  in  Sir  John  Sinclair's.  Statistical  Account  of  Scot- 
land there  is  a  description  of  the  parish  of  Perth,  by  the  Rev.  James  Scott,  in  which 
the  latter  says  that  it  appears  from  the  old  records  that  a  company  of  players  were  in 
Perth  in  1589,  and,  after  alluding  to  Guthrie*s  statement,  adds,  that  'if  they  were 
English  actors  who  visited  Perth  in  that  year,  Shakespeare  might  be  one  of  them.' 
These  conjectures,  however,  of  Guthrie  and  Scott  are  manifestly  loose  and  untenable, 
and  have  never  been  seriously  regarded  by  English  commentators.  '  Collier  does  not 
notice  a  subsequent  visit  of  a  company  of  English  players  to  Scotland  as  detailed  in 
a  local  history  published  in  London  in  1 8 18, — the  Annals  of  Aberdeen,  by  William 
Kennedy.  This  writer  does  not  print  the  document  on  which  he  founds  his  state- 
ments ;  but  his  narrative  is  so  circumstantial  as  to  leave  little  doubt  that  the  company 
of  players  to  which  Shakespeare  belonged  visited  Aberdeen  in  1601. 

*  We  may  distinctly  state  that  as  far  as  any  public  or  private  record  informs  us, 
there  is  no  circumstance  to  show  that  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  company  was  not  in 
Scotland  in  the  autumn  of  1601.  It  is  a  curious  fact  that  even  three  months  later,  at 
the  Christmas  of  that  year,  there  is  no  record  that  the  Lord  Chamberlain's  company 
performed  before  Queen  Elizabeth.  The  Office-Book  of  the  Treasurer  of  the 
Chamber  records  no  performance  between  Shrove  Tuesday,  the  3d  of  March,  1 601, 
and  St.  Stephen's  Day,  the  26th  of  December,  1602.  [Richard  Manningham's  note- 
book however  shows]  that  Shakspere's  company  was  in  London  at  the  beginning  of 
1602.  If  it  can  be  shown  that  the  company  to  which  Shakspcre  belonged  was  per- 
forming in  Scotland  in  October,  1 601,  there  is  every  probability  that  Shakspere  him- 
self was  not  absent.  He  buried  his  father  at  Stratford  on  the  8th  of  September  of 
that  year.  The  summer  season  of  the  Globe  would  be  ended;  the  winter  season  at 
the  Blackfriars  not  begun.  He  had  a  large  interest  as  a  shareholder  in  his  company ; 
he  is  supposed  to  have  been  the  owner  of  its  properties  or  stage  equipments.  His 
duty  would  call  him  to  Scotland.  The  journey  and  the  sojourn  there  would  present 
some  relief  to  the  gloomy  thoughts  which  the  events  of  1601  must  have  cast  upon 
him.' 

Mr  Knight,  taking  Shakespeare's  sojourn  in  Scotland  as  being  thus  proved,  main- 
tains that  there  are  many  points  of  resemblance  between  Macbeth  and  the  '  Earle  of 
Cowrie's  Conspiracie,'  which  happened  only  fourteen  months  before,  and  over  which 
Scotland  was  still  profoundly  moved. 


IVAS  SHAKESPEARE   EVER   IN  SCOTLAND?      409 

In  the  second  place,  Mr  Knight  sustains  his  theory  by  Shakespeare's  topographical 
knowledge.  Holinshed  represents  the  meeting  of  the  Witches  with  Macbeth  and 
Banquo  as  in  the  midst  of  a  '  laund/  which  presents  the  idea  of  a  pleasant  and  fertile 
meadow  among  trees.  The  poet  chose  his  scene  with  greater  art,  and  with  greater 
topographical  accuracy  in  describing  it  as  <  a  blasted  heath.*  The  country  around 
Fores  is  wild  moorland,  no  more  dreary  piece  is  to  be  found  in  all  Scotland.  *  There 
is  something  startling  to  a  stranger  in  seeing  the  solitary  figure  of  the  peat-digger,  or 
rush-gatherer,  moving  amidst  the  waste  in  the  sunshine  of  a  calm  autumn  day ;  but 
the  desolation  of  the  scene  in  stormy  weather,  or  when  the  twilight  fogs  are  trailing 
over  the  pathless  heath,  or  settling  down  upon  the  pools,  must  be  indescribable.' 

The  chroniclers  furnish  Shakspere  with  no  notion  of  the  particular  character  of 
the  castle  of  Inverness.  His  exquisite  description  of  it  in  the  conversation  between 
Duncan  and  Banquo  is  unquestionably  an  effort  of  the  highest  art,  but  it  is  also 
founded  in  reality.  (See  On  the  Site  of  Macbeth' 5  Castle  at  Inverness ^  by  John 
Anderson,  Esq.  Transactions  of  the  Society  of  Scottish  Antiquaries^  iii,  28  Jan. 
1828.) 

In  the  third  place,  Shakespeare's  pronunciation,  Dunsin&ne,  is  adduced  as  a  proof 
of  his  presence  near  the  locality.  *  We  are  informed  by  a  gentleman  who  is  devoted 
to  the  study  of  Scotch  antiquities  that  there  is  every  reason  to  believe  that  Dunsi« 
n&ne  was  the  ancient  pronunciation,  and  that  Shakspere  was  consequently  right  in 
making  Dunsinanc  the  exception  to  his  ordinary  accentuation  of  the  word.' 

Fourthly,  and  lastly,  Mr  Knight  discovers  what  he  considers  unmist.xkable  signs 
of  similarity  between  the  rife,  Scotch,  traditionary  witchcraft  and  the  Weird  Sisters, 
and  Hecate ;  and  adduces  from  the  numberless  trials  of  witches  at  that  very  time 
many  points  of  resemblance. 

When  it  is  stated  that  the  foregoing  paragraphs  have  been  condensed  from  twenty- 
three  of  Mr  Knight's  royal  octavo  pages,  the  reader  will  see  that  but  scant  justice  is 
done  to  an  argument  to  whose  advocate  we  must  certainly  accord  zeal  and  research, 
however  much  we  may  disagree  with  his  drift. 

W.  W.  Lloyd.  It  is  by  no  means  improbable  that  Shakespeare  may  have  visited 
Scotland ;  his  fellow-actors  were  certainly  there,  .  .  .  but  there  is  nothing  in  the 
play  that  requires  to  be  thus  accounted  for ;  assuredly  there  is  no  indication  that  the 
poet  was  more  familiar  with  Scotland  than  with  Republican  Rome. 

Collier  (vol.  i,  p.  164,  ed.  2.  Life  of  William  Shakesf^eare),  Our  chief  reason 
for  thinking  it  unlikely  that  Shakespeare  would  have  accompanied  his  fellows  to 
Scotland,  at  all  events  between  October,  1599,  and  December,  1601,  is  that,  as  the 
principal  writer  for  the  company  to  which  he  was  attached,  he  could  not  well  have 
been  spared ;  and  because  we  have  good  ground  for  believing  that  about  that  period 
he  must  have  been  unusually  busy  in  the  composition  of  plays.  No  fewer  than  five 
dramas  seem,  as  far  as  evidence,  positive  or  conjectural,  can  be  obtained,  to  belong 
to  the  interval  between  1598  and  1602;  and  the  proof  appears  to  us  tolerably  con- 
clusive that  Henry  V,  Tkttelfth  Night,  and  Hamlet  were  written  respectively  in  1599, 
1600,  and  1601.  Besides,  as  far  as  we  are  able  to  decide  such  a  point,  the  company 
to  which  our  great  dramatist  belonged  continued  to  perform  in  London ;  for,  although 
a  detachment  under  Laurence  Fletcher  may  have  l)een  sent  to  Scotland,  the  main 
lK)dy  of  the  association  called  the  Lord  Chaml)erlain's  players  exhibited  at  court  at 
the  usual  seasons  in  1599,  1600,  and  1 60 1.  Therefore  if  Shakespeare  visited  Scot- 
land at  all,  we  think  it  must  have  been  at  an  earlier  period,  and  there  was  undoubt- 
edly ample  time  between  the  years  1589  and  1599  for  him  to  have  done  so.     Xever- 

35 


4.IO  APPENDIX. 

theless,  we  have  no  tidings  that  any  English  actors  were  in  any  part  of  Scotland 
during  those  ten  years. 

Dyce  (vol.  i,  p.  82,  ed.  2.  Life  of  Shakespeare),  We  have  no  evidence  th^ 
Shakespeare  ever  visited  Scotland,  either  along  with  Laurence  Fletcher,  or  ten  years 
earlier  as  one  of  an  English  company,  styled  <  her  Majesty's  players/  who  are  known 
to  have  performed  at  Edinburgh  in  1589. 


LANGBAINE. 

The  following  extract  is  from  Gerard  Langbaine's  Account  of  the  Engiisk 
Dramatick  Poets,  &c.,  1 69 1,  the  earliest  catalogue  of  the  English  Stage  that  *is  to 
be  implicitly  relied  on  for  its  fidelity  * :  *Mackbethy  a  Tragedy ;  which  was  reviv*d 
by  the  Dukes  Company,  and  re-printed  with  Alterations,  and  New  Songs,  4®.  Land, 
1674.  The  Play  is  founded  on  the  History  of  Scotland.  The  Reader  may  consult 
these  Writers  for  the  Story :  viz.  Hector  Boetius,  Buchanan,  Du  chesne,  Hollings- 
heady  &*c.  The  same  Story  is  succinctly  related  in  Verse,  in  ffeywood*s  Hierarchy 
of  Angels,  B.  I,  p.  508,  and  in  Prose  in  Heylin^s  Cosmography,  Book  i,  in  the  Hist, 
of  Brittain,  where  he  may  read  the  Story  at  large.*  At  the  Acting  of  this  Tragedy, 
on  the  Stage,  I  saw  a  real  one  acted  in  the  Pit ;  I  mean  the  Death  of  Mr.  Scroop^ 
who  received  his  death's  wound  from  the  late  Sir  Thonias  Armstrong,  and  died 
presently  after  he  was  removed  to  a  House  opposite  to  the  Theatre,  in  Dorset- 
Garden.^ 


CHARACTER   OF   MACBETH.— WHATELY. 

Thomas  Wiiately  {Remarks  on  Some  Characters  of  Shakespere,  1785,  3d  ed., 
1839).  The  first  thought  of  acceding  to  the  throne  is  suggested,  and  success  in  the 
attempt  is  promised,  to  Macbeth  by  the  witches ;  he  is  therefore  represented  as  a 
man  whose  natural  temper  would  have  deterred  him  from  such  a  design  if  he  had 
not  been  immediately  tempted  and  strongly  impelled  to  it.  (p.  29.) 

A  distinction  [between  Richard  III  and  Macbcth'\  is  made  in  the  article  of  cour- 
age,  though  both  are  possessed  of  it  even  to  an  eminent  degree ;  but  in  Richard  it 
is  intrepidity,  and  in  Macbeth  no  more  than  resolution :  in  him  it  proceeds  from 
exertion,  not  from  nature ;  in  enterprise  he  betrays  a  degree  of  fear,  though  he  is 
able,  when  occasion  requires,  to  stifle  and  subdue  it.  When  he  and  his  wife  are 
concerting  the  murder,  his  doubt,  *  If  we  should  fail,*  is  a  diflSculty  raised  by  appre- 
hension ;  and  as  soon  as  that  is  removed  by  the  contrivance  of  Lady  Macbeth,  he 

*  HBVLirf's  '  story  at  large '  stands  word  for  word  in  The  Argument  to  D'uvenant's  Venion.  See 
p.  304.  Ed. 


CHARA  CTER  OF  MA  CBETIL—  W  WA  TEL  K  4 1 1 

runs  with  violence  into  the  other  extreme  of  confidence.  His  question :  *  Will  i* 
not  be  receivM,'  &c.,  proceeds  from  that  extravajjance  with  which  a  delivery  from 
apprehension  and  doubt  is  always  accompanied.  Then  summoning  all  his  fortitude, 
he  proceeds  to  the  bloody  business  without  any  further  recoils.  But  a  certain  degree 
of  restlessness  and  anxiety  still  continues,  such  as  is  constantly  felt  by  a  man  not 
naturally  very  bold,  worked  up  to  a  momentous  achievement.  His  imagination 
dwells  entirely  on  the  circumstances  of  horror  which  surround  him ;  the  vision  of 
the  dagger;  the  darkness  and  the  stillness  of  the  night,  &c.  A  resolution  thus 
forced  cannot  hold  longer  than  the  immediate  occasion  for  it :  the  moment  after  that 
is  accomplished  for  which  it  was  necessar}',  his  thoughts  take  the  contrary  turn,  and 
he  cries  out  in  agony  and  despair.  He  refuses  to  return  to  the  chamber  and  com- 
plete his  work.  His  disordered  senses  deceive  him ;  he  owns  that  *  every  noise 
appals  him.*  He  listens  when  nothing  stirs;  he  mistakes  the  sounds  he  does  hear; 
he  is  so  confused,  as  not  to  distinguish  whence  the  knocking  proceeds.  She,  who  is 
more  calm,  knows  that  it  is  at  the  south  cntrj';  she  gives  clear  and  distinct  answers 
to  all  his  incoherent  questions,  but  he  returns  none  to  that  which  she  puts  to  him.  All 
his  answers  to  the  trivial  questions  of  Lenox  and  Macduff  are  evidently  given  by  a 
man  thinking  of  something  else ;  and  by  taking  a  tincture  from  the  subject  of  his 
attention,  they  become  equivocal,   (p.  54-59.) 

Macbeth  commits  subsequent  murders  with  less  agitation  than  that  of  Duncan; 
but  this  is  no  inconsistency  in  his  character;  on  the  contrary',  it  confinns  the  princi- 
ples upon  which  it  is  formed ;  for,  besides  his  being  hardened  to  the  deeds  of  death, 
he  is  impelled  by  other  motives  than  those  which  instigated  him  to  assassinate  his 
sovereign.  In  the  one  he  sought  to  gratify  his  ambition  ;  the  rest  are  for  his  security ; 
and  he  gets  rid  of  fear  by  guilt,  which,  to  a  mind  so  constituted,  may  be  the  less 
uneasy  sensation  of  the  two.  The  anxiety  which  prompts  him  to  the  destruction  of 
Banquo  arises  entirely  from  apprehension.  For  though  one  principal  reason  of  his 
jealousy  was  the  prophecy  of  the  witches  in  favour  of  Banquo*s  issue,  yet  here 
starts  forth  another  quite  consistent  with  a  temper  not  quite  free  from  timidity.  He 
is  afraid  of  him  personally;  that  fear  is  founded  on  the  superior  courage  of  the 
other,  and  he  feels  himself  under  an  awe  l)efore  him ;  a  situation  which  a  dauntless 
spirit  can  never  get  into.  So  great  are  these  terrors  that  he  betrays  them  to  the 
murderers.  As  the  murder  is  for  his  own  security,  the  same  apprehensions  which 
checked  him  in  his  designs  upon  Duncan,  impel  him  to  this  upon  Banquo.  (p.  66-69.) 

Macbeth  is  always  shaken  upon  great,  and  frequently  alarmed  upon  trivial,  occa- 
sions. V\ion  meeting  the  Witches,  he  is  agitated  much  more  than  Banquo,  who 
speaks  to  them  first,  and,  the  moment  he  sees  them,  asks  them  several  particular  and 
pertinent  questions.  But  Macbeth,  though  he  has  had  time  to  recollect  himself,  only 
repeats  the  same  inquiry  shortly,  and  bids  them  <  S{^ak,  if  you  can : — Wh.it  are 
you  ?'  Which  parts  may  appear  to  I)e  injudiciously  distributed ;  Macbeth  1>eing  the 
H  principal  personage  in  the  play,  and  most  immediately  concerned  in  this  particular 
scene,  and  it  being  to  him  that  the  Witches  first  address  themselves.  But  the  differ- 
ence in  their  characters  accounts  for  such  a  distribution;  Banquo  being  perfectly 
calm,  and  Macbeth  a  little  ruffled  by  the  adventure.*  Banquo*s  contemptuous  defi- 
ance of  the  Witches  seemed  so  bold  to  Macbeth,  that  he  long  after  mentions  ic  as  an 
instance  of  his  dauntless  spirit,  when  he  recollects  that  he  *  chid  the  sisters.'  (p.  76-78.) 

*  Another  lintance  of  an  eflcct  produced  by  a  distribution  of  the  parts  is  in  II,  iii,  Z15-132,  where, 
on  Lady  Macbelh'i  seeming  to  faint,  while  banquo  and  Macduff  are  solicitous  aliout  her,  Macbeth, 
by  hit  unconcern,  betni)'S  a  consciuusneui  that  the  fainting  is  feisned. 


412  APPENDIX. 

Macbeth  has  an  acquired,  though  not  a  constitutional,  courage,  which  is  equal  to 
all  ordinary  occasions ;  and  if  it  fails  him  upon  those  which  are  extraordinary,  it  is 
however  so  well  formed,  as  to  be  easily  resumed  as  soon  as  the  shock  is  over.  But 
his  idea  never  rises  above  manliness  of  character,  and  he  continually  asserts  his  right 
to  that  character ;  which  he  would  not  do  if  he  did  not  take  to  himself  a  merit  in 
supporting  it.  See  I,  vii,  46.  Upon  the  first  appearance  of  Banquo's  ghost.  Lady 
Macbeth  endeavors  to  recover  him  from  his  terror  by  summoning  this  consideration 
to  his  view :  *  Are  you  a  man,'  *  Aye,  and  a  bold  one,'  &c.  He  puts  in  the  same 
claim  again,  upon  the  ghost's  rising  again,  and  says,  'What  man  dare,  I  dare,'  &c., 
and  on  its  disappearing  finally,  he  says, '  I  am  a  man  again.'  And  even  at  the  last, 
when  he  finds  that  the  prophecy  in  which  he  had  confided  has  deceived  him  by  its 
equivocation,  he  says  that  *  it  hath  cow'd  my  better  part  of  man.*  In  all  which  pas- 
sages he  is  apparently  shaken  out  of  that  character  to  which  he  had  formed  himself, 
but  for  which  he  relied  only  on  exertion  of  courage,  without  supposing  insensibility 
to  fear.  (pp.  81-83.) 

Macbeth  wants  no  disguise  of  his  natural  disposition,  for  it  is  not  bad ;  he  does 
not  aflfecl  more  piety  than  he  has :  on  the  contrary,  a  part  of  his  distress  arises  from 
a  real  sense  of  religion :  which  makes  him  regret  that  he  could  not  join  the  cham- 
berlains in  prayer  for  God's  blessing,  and  bewail  that  he  has  *  given  his  eternal  jewel 
to  the  common  enemy  of  man.'  He  continually  reproaches  himself  for  his  deeds ; 
no  use  can  harden  him  :  confidence  cannot  silence,  and  even  despair  cannot  stifle,  the 
cries  of  his  conscience.  By  the  first  murder  he  put  *  rancours  in  the  vessel  of  his 
peace;'  and  of  the  last  he  owns  to  Macduff,  *  My  soul  is  too  much  charg*d  With 
blood  of  thine  already.'  (pp.  89-90.) 

Against  Banquo  he  acts  with  more  determination,  for  the  reasons  which  have  been 
given :  and  yet  he  most  unnecessarily  acquaints  the  murderers  with  the  reasons  of 
his  conduct ;  and  even  informs  them  of  the  behaviour  he  proposes  to  observe  after- 
wards, see  III,  i,  1 17-123;  which  particularity  and  explanation  to  men  who  did  not 
desire  it;  the  confidence  he  places  in  those  who  could  only  abuse  it;  and  the  very 
needless  caution  of  secrecy  implied  in  this  speech,  are  so  many  symptoms  of  a  feeble 
mind ;  which  again  appears,  when,  after  they  had  undertaken  the  business,  he  bids 
them  '  resolve  themselves  apart ;'  and  thereby  leaves  them  an  opportunity  to  retract, 
if  they  had  not  been  more  determined  than  he  is,  who  supposes  time  to  be  requisite 
for  settling  such  resolutions.  His  sending  a  third  murderer  to  join  the  others,  just  at 
the  moment  of  action,  and  without  notice,  is  a  further  proof  of  the  same  imbecility. 

(pp.  95»  96.) 

Besides  the  proofs  which  have  been  given  of  these  weaknesses  in  his  character, 
through  the  whole  conduct  of  his  designs  against  Duncan  and  Banquo,  another  may 
be  drawn  from  his  attempt  upon  Macduff,  whom  he  first  sends  for  without  acquaint- 
ing Lady  Macbeth  of  his  intention,  then  betrays  the  secret,  by  asking  her  after  the 
company  have  risen  from  the  banquet,  *  How  say'st  thou,  that  Macduff  denies  his 
person  At  our  great  bidding  ?'  *  Did  you  send  to  him,  sir  ?'  *  I  hear  it  by  the  way  : 
but  I  will  send.'  The  time  of  making  this  enquiry  when  it  has  no  relation  to  what 
has  just  passed  otherwise  than  as  his  apprehensions  might  connect  it;  the  addressing 
of  the  question  to  her,  who,  as  appears  from  what  she  says,  knew  nothing  of  the 
matter, — and  his  awkward  attempt  then  to  disguise  it,  are  strong  evidences  of  the 
disorder  of  his  mind.  (pp.  loo,  loi.) 

Immediately  on  the  appearance  of  Whately's  Remarks^  &c.,  in  1785,  JOHN  Pltrur 
Kkmble  published  an  Answer  to  them.     This  Answer  was  revised,  and  republished 


CHARACTER  OF  LADY  MACBETH.--SIDDONS.      415 

(P.  10.)  To  the  Christian  moralist  Macbeth's  guilt  is  so  dark  that  its  degree  cannot 
be  estimated,  as  there  are  no  shades  in  black.  But  to  the  mental  physiologist,  to  whom 
ner\'e  rather  than  conscience,  the  function  of  the  brain  rather  than  the  power  of  the 
will,  is  an  object  of  study,  it  is  impossible  to  omit  from  calculation  the  influences  of 
the  supernatural  event,  which  is  not  only  the  starting-point  of  the  action,  but  the 
remote  cause  of  the  mental  phenomena. 


CHARACTER  OF  LADY   MACBETH. 

Steevens  (Note  on  I,  v,  52).  Shakespeare  has  supported  the  character  of  Lady 
Macbeth  by  repeated  efforts,  and  never  omits  an  opportunity  of  adding  a  trait  of 
ferocity,  or  a  mark  of  the  want  of  human  feelings,  to  this  monster  of  his  own  crea- 
tion. The  softer  passions  are  more  obliterated  in  her  than  in  her  husband,  in  pro- 
portion as  her  ambition  is  greater.  She  meets  him  here  on  his  arrival  from  an 
expedition  of  danger  with  such  a  salutation  as  would  have  become  one  of  his  friends 
or  vassals ;  a  salutation  apparently  fitted  rather  to  raise  his  thoughts  to  a  level  with 
her  own  purposes,  than  to  testify  her  joy  at  his  return,  or  manifest  an  attachment  to 
his  person:  nor  does  any  sentiment  expressive  of  love  or  softness  fall  from  her 
throughout  the  play.  While  Macbeth  himself,  amidst  the  horrors  of  his  guilt,  still 
retains  a  c^^racter  less  fiend-like  than  that  of  his  queen,  talks  to  her  with  a  degree 
of  tenderness,  and  pours  his  complaints  and  fears  into  her  bosom,  accompanied  with 
terms  of  endearment. 

Coleridge  (i,  246).  Lady  Macbeth,  like  all  in  Shakespeare,  is  a  class  individual- 
ized:—of  high  rank,  left  much  alone,  and  feeding  herself  with  day-dreams  of 
ambition,  she  mistakes  the  courage  of  fantasy  for  the  power  of  bearing  the  conse- 
quences of  the  realities  of  guilt.  Hers  is  the  mock  fortitude  of  a  mind  deluded  by 
ambition ;  she  shames  her  husband  with  a  superhuman  audacity  of  fancy  which  she 
cannot  support,  but  sinks  in  the  season  of  remorse,  and  dies  in  suicidal  agony.  Her 
speech :  <  Come,  all  you  spirits  That  tend  on  mortal  thoughts,*  &c.,  is  that  of  one 
who  had  habitually  familiarized^her  imagination  to  dreadful  conceptions,  and  was 
trying  to  do  so  still  more.  Her  invocations  and  requisitions  are  all  the  false  efforts 
of  a  mind  accustomed  only  hitherto  to  the  shadows  of  the  imagination,  vivid  enough 
to  throw  the  every-day  substances  of  life  into  shadow,  but  never  as  yet  brought  into 
direct  contact  with  their  own  correspondent  realities.  She  evinces  no  womanly  life, 
no  wifely  joy,  at  the  return  of  her  husband,  no  pleased  terror  at  the  thought  of  past 
dangen,  whilst  Macbeth  bursts  forth  naturally, — <  My  dearest  love,* — and  shrinks 
from  the  boldnesi  with  which  she  presents  his  own  thoughts  to  him.  With  consum- 
mate art  she  at  6rrt  uses  as  incentives  the  very  circumstances,  Duncan*s  coming  to 
their  house,  &c,  which  Macbeth's  conscience  would  most  probably  have  adduced  to 
her  as  motives  of  abhorrence  or  repulsion. 

Mrs  Siddons  {^Remarks  on  the  Character  of  Lady  Macbtth  *  in  CampbelFs  Life  of 
Mrs  SiddcmSf  vol.  ii,  p.  10).  In  this  astonishing  creature  one  sees  a  woman  in  whose 
bosom  the  passion  of  ambition  has  almost  obliterated  all  the  characteristics  of  hum.in 
nature;  in  whose  composition  are  associated  all  the  subjugating  powers  of  intellect 


41 6  APPENDIX. 

j  and  all  the  charms  and  graces  of  personal  beauty.  You  will  probably  not  agree  with 
me  as  to  the  character  of  that  beauty ;  yet,  perhaps,  this  difference  of  opinion  will  be 
entirely  attributable  to  the  difficulty  of  your  imagination  disengaging  itself  from  thai 
idea  of  the  person  of  her  representative  which  you  have  been  so  long  accustomed  to 
contemplate.  According  to  my  notion,  it  is  of  that  character  which  I  believe  is  gen- 
erally allowed  to  be  most  captivating  to  the  other  sex,— fair,  feminine,  nay,  perhaps, 


L 


even  fragile, — 


'  Fair  as  the  forms  that,  wove  in  Fancy's  loom. 
Float  in  light  visions  round  the  poet's  head.' 


Such  a  combination  only,  respectable  in  energy  and  strength  of  mind,  and  capti- 
vating in  feminine  loveliness,  could  have  composed  a  charm  of  such  potency  as  to 
fascinate  the  mind  of  a  hero  so  dauntless,  a  character  so  amiable,  so  honourable  as 
Macbeth; — to  seduce  him  to  brave  all  the  dangers  of  the  present  and  all  the  .terrors 
of  a  future  world ;  and  we  are  constrained,  even  whilst  we  abhor  his  crimes,  to  pity 
the  infatuated  victim  of  such  a  thraldom.  His  letters,  which  have  informed  ^er  of 
the  predictions  of  those  preternatural  beings  who  accosted  him  on  the  heath,  have 
lighted  up  into  daring  and  desperate  determinations  all  those  pernicious  slumbering 
fires  which  the  enemy  of  man  is  ever  watchful  to  awaken  in  the  bosoms  of  his  unwary 
victims.  To  his  direful  suggestions  she  is  io  far  from  offering  the  least  opposition,  as 
not  only  to  yield  up  her  soul  to  them,  but  moreover  to  invoke  the  sightless  ministers 
of  remorseless  cruelty  to  extinguish  in  her  breast  all  those  compunctious  visitings  of 
nature  which  otherwise  might  have  been  mercifully  interposed  to  counteract,  and 
perhaps  eventually  to  overcome,  their  unholy  instigations.  But  having  impiously 
delivered  herself  up  to  the  excitements  of  hell,  the  pitifulness  of  heaven  itself  is 
withdrawn  from  her,  and  she  is  abandoned  to  the  guidance  of  the  demons  whom  she 
has  invoked. 

Here  I  cannot  resist  a  little  digression,  to  observe  how  sweetly  contrasted  with  the 
conduct  of  this  splendid  fiend  is  that  of  the  noble  single-minded  Banquo.  He,  when 
under  the  same  species  of  temptation,  having  been  alarmed,  as  it  appears,  by  some 
wicked  suggestions  of  the  Weird  Sisters^  in  his  last  night's  dream,  puts  up  an  earnest 
prayer  to  heaven  to  have  these  cursed  thoughts  restrained  in  him,  *  which  nature 
gives  way  to  in  repose."*  Yes,  even  as  to  that  time  when  he  is  not  accountable  either 
for  their  access  or  continuance,  he  remembers  the  precept,  *  Keep  thy  heart  with  all 
diligence;  for  out  of  it  are  the  issues  of  life.' 

To  return  to  the  subject.  Lady  Macbeth,  thus  adorned  with  every  fascination  of 
mind  and  person,  enters  for  the  first  time,  reading  a  part  of  one  of  these  portentous 
letters  from  her  husband.  [I,  v,  1-12.]  Vaulting  ambition  and  intrepid  daring  re- 
kindle in  a  moment  all  the  splendours  of  her  dark  blue  eyes.  She  fatally  resolves 
that  Glamis  and  Cawdor  shall  be  also  that  which  the  mysterious  agents  of  the  Evil 
One  have  promised.  She  then  proceeds  to  the  investigation  of  her  husband's  cha- 
racter. [I,  V,  14-23.]  In  this  development,  we  find  that,  though  ambitious,  he  is  yet 
amiable,  conscientious,  nay,  pious ;  and  yet  of  a  temper  so  irresolute  and  fluctuatincr^ 
as  to  require  all  the  efforts,  all  the  excitement,  which  her  uncontrollable  spirit,  and 
her  unbounded  influence  over  him,  can  perform.  She  continues  [lines  23-28]. 
Shortly,  Macbeth  appears.  He  announces  the  King's  approach ;  and  she,  insensible 
it  should  seem  to  all  the  perils  which  he  has  encountered  in  battle,  and  to  all  the 
happiness  of  his  safe  return  to  her,— ^for  not  one  kind  word  of  greeting  or  congratu- 
lation does  she  offer, — is  so  entirely  swallowed  up  by  the  horrible  design,  which  has 
probably  been  suggested  to  her  by  his  letters,  as  to  have  entirely  forgotten  both  the 


CHARACTER  OF  LADY  MACBETH.—SIDDONS,      \\^ 

one  and  the  other.     It  is  very  remarkable  that  Macbeth  is  frequent  in  expressions  t;f 

'  tenderness  to  his  wife,  while  she  never  betrays  one  symptom  of  affection  towards 
him,  till,  in  the  fiery  furnace  of  affliction,  her  iron  heart  is  melted  down  to  softness. 
For  the  present  she  flies  to  welcome  the  venerable,  gracious  Duncan,  with  such  a 
show  of  eagerness,  as  if  allegiance  in  her  bosom  sat  crowned  with  devotion  and 

,    gratitude. 

TiiE  SixoNi)  Act.  There  can  be  no  doubt  that  Macbeth,  in  the  first  instance, 
suggested  the  design  of  assassinating  the  King,  and  it  is  probable  that  he  has  invited 
his  gracious  sovereign  to  his  castle,  in  order  more  speedily  and  expeditiously  to  real- 
ize those  thoughts,  *  whose  murder  j  though  but  yet  fantastical^  so  shook  his  sinij^/e  state 
of  Ptan.^  Yet  on  the  arrival  of  Duncan,  his  naturally  benevolent  and  good  feelings 
re»*ume  their  wonted  power  [and  after  rehearsing  the  arguments  against  the  commis- 

\  sion  of  the  crime],  he  wisely  determines  to  proceed  no  further  in  the  business.  But 
now  behi>ld,  his  evil  genius,  his  grave-charm,  appears,  and  by  the  force  of  her  revil- 
ings,  her  contemptuous  taunts,  and,  alxjve  all,  by  her  opprobrious  aspersion  of  cow- 
ardice,  chases  [away  the  feelings  of]  loyalty,  and  pity,  and  gratitude,  which  but  a 
moment  before  had  taken  full  p«)sses!rion  of  his  mind. 

Even  here  [I,  vii,  54-59],  horrific  as  she  is,  she  shews  herself  made  by  am- 
bition, but  not  by  nature,  a  perfectly  savage  creature.  The  very  use  of  such  a 
tender  allusion  in  the  midst  of  her  dre.idfiil  language,  persuades  one  uneijui vocally 
that  she  has  really  felt  the  maternal  yearnings  of  a  mother  towards  her  babe,  and 
that  she  considered  this  action  the  most  enormous  that  ever  required  the  strength  of 
human  nerves  for  its  peq^etration.  Her  language  to  Macbeth  is  the  most  potently 
elo^juent  that  guilt  could  use.  It  is  only  in  soliloquy  that  she  invokes  the  powers 
of  hell  to  unscx  her.  To  her  husband  she  avows,  and  the  naturalness  of  her  lan- 
guage makes  us  1>elieve  her,  that  she  had  felt  the  instinct  of  filial  as  well  as,  maternal 
love.  Ihit  she  makes  her  very  virtues  the  means  of  a  taunt  to  her  lord.  ...  It  is 
the  deail  of  night.  The  gracious  Duncan,  shut  up  in  measureless  content,  reposes 
sweetly.  .  .  .  Tlie  daring  fiend,  whose  pernicious  potions  have  stupefied  the  attend- 
ants, and  who  even  laid  their  daggers  ready, — her  own  spirit,  as  it  seems,  exalted  by 
the  power  of  wine, — now  enters  the  gallery  in  eager  expectation  of  the  results  of 
her  dial>olical  diligence.  In  the  tremendous  suspease  of  these  moments,  while  she 
recollects  her  habitual  humanity,  one  trait  of  tender  feeling  is  expressed,  <  Had  he 
not  resembled  my  father  as  he  slept,  I  had  done  it.'  Her  humanity  vanishes,  how- 
ever, in  the  same  instant.  [For  when  her  husband  refuses  to  return  to  the  chamber 
to  replace  the  daggers]  instantaneously  the  solitar\'  particle  of  her  human  feeling  is 
swallowed  np  in  her  remorseless  ambition,  and,  wrenching  the  daggers  from  the 
feeble  grasp  of  her  husband,  she  finishes  the  act  which  the  *  infirm  of  purpose'  had 

I    not  courage  to  complete.  ... 

The  Third  Act.  The  golden  round  of  royalty  now  crowns  her  brow,  and  royal 
robes  enfold  her  form ;  but  the  peace  that  passeth  all  underst.nnding  is  lost  to  her  for 
e\'cr,  and  the  worm  that  never  dies  already  gnaws  her  heart  [HI,  ii,  4-7].  Under 
the  impression  of  her  present  wretchedness,  I,  from  this  moment,  have  always 
assumed  the  dejection  of  countenance  and  manners  which  I  thought  accordant  to 
such  a  state  of  mind;  and,  though  the  author  of  this  sublime  composition  has  not, 
it  must  be  acknowledged,  given  any  direction  whatever  to  authorise  this  assumption, 
yet  I  venture  to  hope  that  he  would  not  have  disapproved  of  it.  It  is  evident, 
indee<l,  by  her  conduct  in  the  scene  which  succeeds  this  mournful  soliloquy,  that  she 
is  no  longer  the  presumptuous,  the  determined,  creature  that  she  was  before  the 

2B 


41 8  APPENDIX. 

assassination  of  the  kingk  for  instance,  on  the  approach  of  her  husband  we  behold, 
for  the  first  lime,  striking  indications  of  sensibility,  nay,  tenderness  and  sympathy  ; 
and  I  think  this  conduct  is  nobly  followed  up  by  her  during  the  whole  of  their  sub- 
sequent intercourse.  J  It  is  evident,  I  think,  that  the  sad  and  new  experience  of 
affliction  has  subdw«d  the  insolence  of  her  pride,  and  the  violence  of  her  will,  for 
she  now  comes  to  seek  him  out,  that  she  may,  at  least,  participate  Jiis  misery.  She 
knows,  by  her  own  woeful  experience,  the  torment  which  he  undergoes,  and  endeav- 
ors to  alleviate  his  sufferings  by  the  following  inefficient  reasonings  :-^[III,  ii,  8-12]. 
■Far  from  her  former  habits  of  reproach  and  contemptuous  taunting,  you  perceive 
that  she  now  listens  to  his  complaints  with  sympathizing  feelings ;  and  so  far  from 
adding  to  the  weight  of  his  affliction  the  burthen  of  her  own,  she  endeavors  to  con- 
ceal it  from  him  with  the  most  delicate  and  unremitting  attention.  .  .  .  All  her 
thoughts  are  now  directed  to  divert  his  from  those  sorriest  fancies  by  turning  them 
10  the  approaching  banquet.  .  .  .  Yes,  smothering  her  sufferings  in  the  deef>cst  re- 
cesses of  her  own  wretched  bosom,  we  cannot  but  perceive  that  she  devotes  herself 
entirely  to  the  effort  of  supporting  him. 

Let  it  be  here  recollected,  as  some  palliation  of  her  former  very  different  deport- 
ment, that  she  had,  probably,  from  childhood  commanded  all  around  her  with  a  high 
hand ;  had  uninterruptedly,  perhaps,  in  that  splendid  station  enjoyed  all  that  wealth, 
all  that  nature  had  to  bestow ;  that  she  had,  possibly,  no  directors,  no  controllers, 
and  that  in  womanhood  her  fascinated  lord  had  never  once  opposed  her  inclinations. 
But  now  her  new-bom  relentings,  under  the  rod  of  chastisement,  prompt  her  to 
make  palpable  efforts  in  order  to  support  the  spirits  of  her  weaker,  and,  I  must  say, 
more  selfish,  husband.  .  .  . 

The  Banquet.  Surrounded  by  their  Court,  in  all  the  apparent  ease  and  self-com- 
placency of  which  their  wretched  souls  are  destitute,  they  are  now  seated  at  the  royal 
banquet;  and  although,  through  the  greater  part  of  this  scene.  Lady  Macbeth  affects 
to  resume  her  wonted  domination  over  her  husband,  yet,  notwithstanding  all  this 
self-control,  her  mind  must  even  then  be  agonized  by  the  complicated  pangs  of  terror 
and  remorse.  For  what  imagination  can  conceive  her  tremors  lest  at  every  suc- 
ceeding moment  Macbeth,  in  his  distraction,  may  confirm  those  suspicions,  but  ill- 
concealed  under  the  loyal  looks  and  cordial  manners  of  their  flkile  courtiers,  when, 
with  smothered  terror,  yet  domineering  indignation,  she  exclainNmon  his  agitation 
at  the  ghost  of  Banquo,  *  Are  you  a  man?'  [Ill,  iv,  60-6S.]  l^H»  with  fear,  yet 
assuming  the  utmost  composure,  she  returns  to  her  stately  canopM^Ho'with  trembling 
nerves,  having  tottered  up  the  steps  to  her  throne,  that  bad  ^^V^K^t  she  entertains 
her  wondering  guests  with  frightful  smiles,  with  over-acted  ^)Q^Kp»  ^ind  with  fitful 
graciousness ;  painfully,  yet  incessantly,  labouring  to  divert  tmaKdtention  from  her 
husband.  Whilst  writhing  thus  under  her  internal  agonies,  herWKless  and  terrifying 
glances  towards  Macbeth,  in  spite  of  all  her  efforts  to  supprdJUftem,  have  thrown 
the  whole  table  into  amazement ;  and  the  murderer  then  suoSWy  breaks  up  the 
assembly  by  the  confession  of  his  horrors:   [III,  iv,  110-116.]     ^.i 

What  imitation,  in  such  circumstances  as  these,  would  ever  satislyihe  demands  of 
expectation  ?  The  terror,  the  remorse,  the  hypocrisy  of  this  astonishing  being,  flit- 
ting in  frightful  succession  over  her  countenance,  and  actuating  her  agitated  gestures 
with  her  varying  emotions,  present,  perhaps,  one  of  the  greatest  difficulties  of  the 
scenic  art,  and  cause  her  representative  no  less  to  tremble  for  the  suffrage  of  her  pri- 
vate study,  than  for  its  public  effect. 

It  is  now  the  time  to  inform  you  of  an  idea  which  I  have  conceived  of  Lady  Mao 


CHARACTER  OF  LADY  MACBETH.-SIDDONS,      419 

bcth*s  character,  which  perhaps  will  appear  as  fanciful  as  that  which  I  have  adopted 
respecting  the  style  of  her  beauty ;  and  in  order  to  justify  this  idea,  I  must  ca^ry 
you  lock  to  the  scene  immediately  preceding  the  banquet,  in  which  you  will  recol- 
lect the  following  dialogue :  [III,  ii,  36-55].  Now  it  is  not  possible  that  she  should 
hear  all  these  ambiguous  hints  about  Banquo  without  being  too  well  aware  that  a 
sudden,  lamentable  fate  awaits  him.  Yet  so  far  from  offering  any  opposition  to 
Macbeth's  murderous  designs,  she  even  hints,  I  think,  at  the  facility,  if  not  the  expe- 
diency, of  destroying  lx)th  Banquo 'and  [Fleance]  when  she  observes  that  *in  them 
Natures  copy  is  not  efemeJ*  Having,  therefore,  now  filled  the  measure  of  her 
crimes,  I  have  imagined  that  the  last  appearance  of  Banquo's  ghost  became  no  less 
visible  to  her  eyes  than  it  I>ccame  to  those  of  her  husband.  Yes,  the  spirit  of  the 
noble  Banquo  has  smilingly  filled  up,  even  to  overflowing,  and  now  commends  to 
her  own  lips  the  ingredients  of  her  poisoned  chalice. 

The  Fifth  Act.  Behold  her  now,  with  wasted  form,  with  wan  and  haggard 
countenance,  her  starry  eyes  glazed  with  the  ever-burning  fever  of  remorse,  and  on 
their  lids  the  shadows  of  death.  Iler  ever-restless  spirit  wanders  in  troubled  dreams 
about  her  dismal  apartment;  and,  whether  waking  or  asleep,  the  smell  of  innocent 
blood  incessantly  haunts  her  imagination : 

'  Here's  the  smell  of  blood  still. 
All  the  perfumes  of  Arabia  will  not  sweeten 
This  little  hand/ 

How  beautifully  contrasted  is  this  exclamation  with  the  bolder  image  of  Macbeth, 
in  expressing  the  same  feeling : 

'  Will  all  great  Neptune's  ocean  wash  the  blood 
Clean  from  this  hand  f* 

And  how  appropriately  either  sex  illustrates  the  same  idea  I 

During  this  appalling  scene,  which,  to  my  sense,  is  the  most  so  of  them  all,  the 
wretched  creature,  in  imagination,  acts  over  again  the  accumulated  horrors  of  her 
whole  conduct.  These  dreadful  images,  accompanied  with  the  agitations  they 
have  induced,  have  obviously  accelerated  her  untimely  end ;  for  in  a  few  moments 
tidings  of  her  death  are  brought  to  her  unhappy  husband.  It  is  conjectured  that  she 
died  by  her  own  hand.     Too  certain  it  is,  that  she  dies  and  makes  no  sign.     I  have 

now  to  account  to  you  for  the  weakness  which  I  have  ascril)ed  to  Macbeth 

Please  to  observe,  that  he  (I  must  think  pusillanimously,  when  I  compare  his  conduct 
with  her  forbearance,)  has  been  continually  pouring  out  his  miseries  to  his  wife.  His 
heart  has  therefore  been  eased,  from  time  to  time,  by  unloading  Its  weight  of  woe ; 
while  she,  on  the  contrary,  hxs  perseveringly  endured  in  silence  the  uttermost  anguish 
of  a  wounded  spirit Her  feminine  nature,  her  delicate  structure,  it  is  too  evi- 
dent, are  soon  overwhelmed  by  the  enormous  pressure  of  her  crimes.  Yet  it  will  be 
granted  that  she  gives  proofs  of  a  naturally  higher  toned  mind  than  that  of  Macbeth. 
The  different  physical  powers  of  the  two  sexes  are  finely  delineated,  in  the  different 
effects  which  their  mutual  crimes  produce.  Her  frailer  frame,  and  keener  feelings, 
have  now  sunk  under  the  struggle — his  robust  and  less  sensitive  constitution  has  not 
only  resisted  it,  but  bears  him  on  to  deeper  wickedness,  and  to  experience  the  fatal 
fecundity  of  crime 

In  one  point  of  view,  at  least,  this  guilty  pair  extort  from  us,  in  spite  of  ourselves, 
a  certain  respect  and  approbation.  Their  grandeur  of  character  sustains  them  both 
above  recrimination  (the  despicable  accustomed  resort  of  vulgar  minds)  in  adversity; 


420  APPENDIX. 

for  the  wretched  husband,  though  almost  impelled  into  this  gulf  of  destruction  \rf 
the  instigations  of  his  wife,  feels  no  abatement  of  his  love  for  her,  while  she,  on  her 
part,  appears  to  have  known  no  tenderness  for  him,  till,  with  a  heart  bleeding  at 
every  pore,  she  beholds  in  him  the  miserable  victim  of  their  mutual  ambition.  Un- 
like the  first  frail  pair  in  Paradise,  they  spent  not  the  fruitless  hours  in  mutual  accu- 
sation. 

[Mrs  Siddons,  on  p.  35,  gives  the  following  account  of  the  first  time  that  she  had 
to  play  Lady  Macbeth  :] 

It  was  my  custom  to  study  my  characters  at  night,  when  all  the  domestic  cares 
and  business  of  the  day  were  over.  On  the  night  preceding  that  in  which  I  was  to 
appear  in  this  part  for  the  first  time,  I  shut  myself  up,  as  usual,  when  all  the  family 
were  retired,  and  commenced  my  study  of  Lady  Macbeth.  As  the  character  is  very 
short,  I  thought  I  should  soon  accomplish  it.  Being  then  only  twenty  years  of  age, 
I  believed,  as  many  others  do  believe,  that  little  more  was  necessary  than  to  get  the 
words  into  my  head ;  for  the  necessity  of  discrimination,  and  the  development  of 
character,  at  that  time  of  my  life,  had  scarcely  entered  into  my  imagination.  But,  to 
proceed.  I  went  on  with  tolerable  composure,  in  the  silence  of  the  night  (a  night  I 
can  never  forget),  till  I  came  to  the  assassination  scene,  when  the  horrors  of  the 
scene  rose  to  a  degree  thai  made  it  impossible  for  me  to  get  farther.  I  snatched  up 
my  candle,  and  hurried  out  of  the  room,  in  a  paroxysm  of  terror.  My  dress  was  of 
silk,  and  the  rustling  of  it,  as  I  ascended  the  stairs  to  go  to  bed,  seemed  to  my  panic- 
struck  fancy  like  the  movement  of  a  spectre  pursuing  me.  At  last  I  reached  my 
chamber,  where  I  found  my  husband  fast  asleep.  I  clapt  my  candlestick  down  upon 
the  table,  without  the  power  of  putting  the  candle  out,  and  threw  myself  on  my  bed, 
without  daring  to  stay  even  to  take  off  my  clothes.  At  peep  of  day  I  rose  to  resume 
my  task ;  but  so  little  did  I  know  of  my  part  when  I  appeared  in  it,  at  night,  that 
my  shame  and  confusion  cured  me  of  procrastinating  my  business  for  the  remainder 
of  my  life. 

About  six  years  afterwards  I  was  called  upon  to  act  the  same  character  in  London. 
By  this  time  I  had  perceived  the  difficulty  of  assuming  a  personage  with  whom  no 
one  feeling  of  common  general  nature  was  congenial  or  assistant.  One's  own  heart 
could  prompt  one  to  express,  with  some  degree  of  truth,  the  sentiments  of  a  mother, 
a  daughter,  a  wife,  a  lover,  a  sister,  &c.,  but  to  adopt  this  character  must  be  an  effort 
of  the  judgement  alone. 

Therefore,  it  was  with  the  utmost  diffidence,  nay,  terror,  that  I  undertook  it,  and 
with  the  additional  fear  of  Mrs  Pritchard's  reputation  in  it  before  my  eyes.  The 
dreaded  first  night  at  length  arrived,  when,  just  as  I  had  finished  my  toilette,  and 
was  pondering  with  fearfulness  my  first  appearance  in  the  grand,  fiendish  part,  comes 
Mr  Sheridan,  knocking  at  my  door,  and  insisting,  in  spite  of  all  my  entreaties  not  to 
be  interrupted  at  this  to  me  tremendous  moment,  to  be  admitted.  He  would  not  be 
denied  admittance,  for  he  protested  he  must  speak  to  me  on  a  circumstance  which  so 
deeply  concerned  my  own  interest,  that  it  was  of  the  most  serious  nature.  Well, 
after  much  squabbling,  I  was  compelled  to  admit  him,  that  I  might  dismiss  him  the 
sooner,  and  compose  myself  before  the  play  began.  But,  what  was  my  distress  and 
astonishment  when  I  found  that  he  wanted  me,  even  at  this  moment  of  anxiety  and 
terror,  to  adopt  another  mode  of  acting  the  sleeping  scene.  He  told  me  he  had 
heard  with  the  greatest  sur])rise  and  concern  that  I  meant  to  act  it  without  holding 
the  candle  in  my  hand ;  and,  when  I  urged  the  impracticability  of  washing  out  that 
•  damned  spot  *  with  the  vehemence  that  was  certainly  implied  by  both  her  own  words 


CHAR  A  CTER  OF  LADY  A/A  CBETH,-^  JAMESON,      4^  I 

and  by  those  of  her  gentlewoman,  he  insisted,  that  if  I  did  put  the  candle  out 
of  my  hand,  it  would  be  thought  a  presumptuous  innovation,  as  Mrs  Pritchard 
had  always  retained  it  in  hers.  My  mind,  however,  was  made  up,  and  it  was  then 
too  late  to  make  me  alter  it ;  for  I  was  too  agitated  to  adopt  another  method.  My 
deference  for  Mr  Sheridan's  taste  and  judgement  was,  however,  so  great,  that,  had 
he  proposed  the  alteration  whilst  it  was  possible  for  me  to  change  my  own  plan,  I 
should  have  yielded  to  his  suggestion  ;  though  even  then  it  would  have  been  against 
my  own  opinion,  and  my  observation  of  the  accuracy  with  which  somnambulists 
perform  all  the  acts  of  waking  persons.  The  scene,  of  course,  was  acted  as  I  had 
myself  conceived  it,  and  the  innovation,  as  Mr  Sheridan  called  it,  was  received  with 
approbation.  Mr  Sheridan  himself  came  to  me,  after  the  play,  and  most  ingenuously 
congratulated  me  on  my  obstinacy.  When  he  was  gone  out  of  the  room  I  began  to 
undress ;  and  while  standing  up  before  my  glass,  and  taking  off  my  mantle,  a  divert- 
ing circumstance  occurred  to  chase  away  the  feelings  of  this  anxious  night ;  for  while 
I  was  repeating,  and  endeavoring  to  call  to  mind  the  appropriate  tone  and  action  to 
the  following  words,  *  Here's  the  smell  of  blood  still  !*  my  dresser  innocently  ex- 
claimed, •  Dear  me,  ma'am,  how  very  hysterical  you  are  to-night ;  I  protest  and  vow, 
ma'am,  it  was  not  blood,  but  rose-pink  and  water;  for  I  saw  the  property-man  mix  it 
up,  with  my  own  eyes.* 

Mrs  Jameso.n  {Characteristics  of  fVomcn,  vol.  ii,  p.  320,  1833).  The  very  pas- 
sages in  which  Lady  Macbeth  displays  the  most  savage  and  relentless  determination 
are  so  worded  as  to  fill  the  mind  with  the  idea  of  sex,  and  place  the  woman  before    f 
us  in  all  her  dearest  attributes,  at  once  softening  and  refining  the  horror  and  render- i  ' 
ing  it  more  intense.     Thus  when  she  reproaches  her  husband  for  his  weakness, — 
*  From  this  time  such  I  account  thy  love.'     Again,  *  Come  to  my  woman's  breasts     * 
And  take  my  milk  for  gall,'  &c.     •  I  have  given  suck,  and  know  how  tender  *tis  To 
love  the  babe  that  milks  me,'  &c.     And  lastly,  in  the  moment  of  extremest  terror 
comes  that  unex}.>ected  touch  of  feeling,  so  startling,  yet  so  wonderfully  true  to 
nature, — *  Had  he  not  resembled  my  father,*  &c.     Thus  in  one  of  Weber's  or  Beet- 
hoven's grand  symphonies,  some  unexpected  soft  minor  chord  or  passage  will  steal 
on  the  ear,  heard  amid  the  magnificent  crash  of  harmony,  making  the  blood  pause 
and  filling  the  eyes  with  unbidden  tears. 

It  is  particularly  observable  that  in  Lady  Macbeth's  concentrated,  strong-nerved 
ambition,  the  ruling  passion  of  her  mind,  there  is  yet  a  touch  of  womanhood :  she 
is  ambitious  less  for  herself  than  for  her  husband.  It  is  fair  to  think  this,  because 
we  have  no  reason  to  draw  any  other  inference  either  from  her  words  or  her  actions. 
In  her  famous  soliloquy,  after  reading  her  husband's  letter,  she  does  not  once  refer 
to  herself.  It  is  of  him  she  thinks:  she  wishes  to  see  her  husband  on  the  thione, 
and  to  place  the  sceptre  within  Ais  grasp.  The  strength  of  her  affection  (dds 
strength  to  her  ambition.  Although  in  the  old  story  of  Boethius  we  are  told  that 
the  wife  of  Macbeth  *  burned  with  unquenchable  desire  to  bear  the  name  of  queen,' 
yet  in  the  aspect  under  which  Shakespeare  has  represented  the  character  to  us,  the 
selfish  part  of  this  ambition  is  kept  out  of  sight.  Wc  must  remark  also,  that  in 
Lady  Macbeth's  reflections  on  her  husband's  character,  and  on  that  milkiness  of 
nature  which  she  fears  *  may  impede  him  from  the  golden  round,'  there  is  no  indica- 
tion of  female  scorn :  there  is  exceeding  pride,  but  no  egotism,  in  the  sentiment  or 
the  expression ;  no  wont  of  wifely  or  womanly  respect  and  love  for  Aim,  but  on  the 
contrary,  a  sort  of  unconsciousness  of  her  own  mental  superiority,  which  she  betrays 
rather  than  asserts,  as  interesting  in  itself  as  it  is  most  admirably  conceived  and 

36 


422  APPENDIX, 

delineated.  Nor  is  there  anything  vulgar  in  her  ambition ;  as  the  strength  of  her 
affections  lends  to  it  something  profound  and  concentrated,  so  her  splendid  imag- 
ination invests  the  object  of  her  desire  with  its  own  radiance.  We  cannot  trace  in 
her  grand  and  capacious  mind  that  it  is  the  mere  baubles  and  trappings  of  royalty 
which  dazzle  and  allure  her :  hers  is  the  sin  of  the  *  star-bright  apostate/  and  she 
plunges  with  her  husband  into  the  abyss  of  guilt  to  procure  for  <  all  their  days  and 
nights  sole  sovereign  sway  and  masterdom.'  She  revels,  she  luxuriates,  in  her 
dream  of  power.  She  reaches  at  the  golden  diadem  which  is  to  sear  h^r  brain ;  she 
perils  life  and  soul  for  its  attainment,  with  an  enthusiasm  as  perfect,  a  faith  as  set- 
tled, as  that  of  the  martyr  who  sees  at  the  stake  heaven  and  its  crowns  of  glory 
opening  upon  him.  .  .  . 

She  is  nowhere  represented  as  urging  [Macbeth]  on  to  new  crimes;  so  far  from 
it,  that  when  he  darkly  hints  his  purposed  assassination  of  Banquo,  and  she  inquires 
his  meaning,  he  replies,  *  Be  innocent  of  the  knowledge,  dearest  chuck,  Till  thou 
approve  the  deed.*  The  same  may  be  said  of  the  destruction  of  Macduff's  family. 
Every  one  must  perceive  how  our  detestation  of  the  woman  had  been  increased,  if 
she  had  been  placed  before  us  as  suggesting  and  al^tting  those  additional  cruelties 
into  which  Macbeth  is  hurried  by  his  mental  cowardice. 

If  my  feeling  of  Lady  Macbeth's  character  be  just  to  the  conception  of  the  poet, 
then  she  is  one  who  could  steel  herself  to  the  commission  of  a  crime  from  necessity 
and  expediency,  and  be  daringly  wicked  for  a  great  end,  but  not  likely  to  perpetrate 
gratuitous  murders  from  any  vague  or  selfish  fears.  I  do  not  mean  to  say  that  the 
perfect  confidence  existing  between  herself  and  Macbeth  could  possibly  leave  her' in 
ignorance  of  his  actions  or  designs :  that  heart-broken  and  shuddering  allusion  to 
the  murder  of  Lady  Macduff  (in  the  sleeping  scene)  proves  the  contrary.  But  she 
is  nowhere  brought  before  us  in  immediate  connexion  with  these  horrors,  and  we  are 
spared  any  flagrant  proof  of  her  participation  in  them.  .  .  . 

Another  thing  has  always  struck  me.  During  the  supper  scene,  .  .  .  her  indig- 
nant rebuke  [to  her  husband],  her  low  whispered  remonstrance,  the  sarcastic  empha- 
sis with  which  she  combats  his  sick  fancies,  and  endeavors  to  recall  him  to  himself, 
have  an  intenseness,  a  severity,  a  bitterness,  which  makes  the  blood  creep.  Yet, 
when  the  guests  are  dismissed,  and  they  are  left  alone,  she  says  no  more,  and  not  a 
syllable  of  reproach  or  scorn  escapes  her :  a  few  words  in  submissive  reply  to  his 
questions,  and  an  entreaty  to  seek  repose,  are  all  she  permits  herself  to  utter.  There 
is  a  touch  of  pathos  and  of  tenderness  in  this  silence  which  has  always  affected  me 
beyond  expression :  it  is  one  of  the  most  masterly  and  most  beautiful  traits  of  cha- 
racter in  the  whole  play. 

Lastly,  it  is  clear  that  in  a  mind  constituted  like  that  of  Lady  Macbeth  conscience 
must  wake  some  time  or  other,  and  bring  with  it  remorse  closed  by  despair,  and 
despair  by  death.  This  great  moral  retribution  was  to  be  displayed  to  us — but  how  ? 
Lady  Macbeth  is  not  a  woman  to  start  at  shadows ;  she  mocks  at  air-drawn  daggers ; 
she  sees  no  imagined  spectre?  rise  from  the  tomb  to  appal  or  accuse  her.  The 
towering  braver}'  of  her  mind  disdains  the  visionary  terrors  which  haunt  her  weaker 
husband.  We  know,  or  rather  feel,  that  she  who  could  give  a  voice  to  the  most 
direful  intent,  and  call  on  the  spirits  that  wait  on  mortal  thoughts  to  *  unsex  her,*  and 
*  stop  up  all  access  and  passage  of  remorse,* — to  that  remorse  would  have  given  nor 
tongue  nor  sound ;  and  that  rather  than  have  uttered  a  complaint,  she  would  have 
held  her  breath  and  died.  To  have  given  her  a  confidant,  though  in  the  partner  of 
her  guilt,  would  have  been  a  degrading  resource,  and  have  disappointed  and  enfee- 


/ 


CHARACTER  OF  LADY  MACBETH.--CAMPBELL.    423 

bled  all  our  previous  impressions  of  her  character;  yet  justice  is  to  be  done,  and  we 
are  to  be  made  acquainted  with  that  which  the  woman  herself  would  have  suffered  a 
thousand  deaths  rather  than  have  betrayed.  In  the  sleeping  scene  we  have  a  glimpse 
into  that  inward  hell :  the  seared  brain  and  broken  heart  are  laid  bare  before  us  in 
the  helplessness  of  slumber.  By  a  judgement  the  most  sublime  ever  imagined,  yet 
the  most  unforced,  natural  and  inevitable,  the  sleep  of  her  who  murdered  sleep  is 
no  longer  repose,  but  a  condensation  of  resistless  horrors  which  the  prostrate  intel- 
lect and  the  powerless  will  can  neither  baffle  nor  repel.  We  shudder  and  are  satis- 
tied  ;  yet  our  human  sympathies  arc  again  touched ;  we  rather  sigh  over  the  ruin 
than  exult  in  it;  and  after  watching  her  through  this  wonderful  scene  with  a  sort  of 
fascination,  we  dismiss  the  unconscious,  helpless,  despair-stricken  murderess  with  a 
feeling  which  Lady  Macbeth,  in  her  waking  strength,  with  all  her  awe-commanding 
powers  about  her,  could  never  have  excited. 

It  is  here  especially  we  perceive  that  sweetness  of  nature  which  in  Shakespeare 
went  hand  in  hand  with  his  astonishing  powers.  He  never  confounds  that  line  of 
demarcation  which  eternally  separates  good  from  evil,  yet  he  never  places  evil  before 
us  without  exciting  in  some  way  a  consciousness  of  the  opposite  good  which  shall 
balance  and  relieve  it.  .  .  . 

What  would  not  the  tirmness,  the  self-command,  the  enthusiasm,  the  intellect,  the 
ardent  affections  of  this  woman  have  performed,  if  properly  directed  ?  but  the  object 
being  unworthy  of  the  effort,  the  end  is  disappointment,  despair,  and  death. 

The  power  of  religion  could  alone  have  controlled  such  a  mind ;  but  it  is  the  mis- 
ery of  a  very  proud,  strong,  and  gifted  spirit,  without  sense  of  religion,  that  instead 
of  looking  upward  to  tind  a  superior,  it  looks  around  and  sees  all  things  as  subject 
to  itself.  Lady  Macbeth  is  placed  in  a  dark,  ignorant,  iron  age ;  her  powerful  intel- 
lect is  slightly  tinged  with  its  credulity  and  superstitions,  but  she  has  no  religious 
feeling  to  restrain  the  force  of  will.  She  is  a  stern  fatalist  in  principle  and  action, — 
*  What  is  done,  is  done,'  and  would  be  done  over  again  under  the  same  circum- 
stances ;  her  remorse  is  without  repentance  or  any  reference  to  an  offended  Deity ;  it 
arises  from  the  pang  of  a  wounded  conscience,  the  recoil  of  the  violated  feelings  of 
nature;  it  b  the  horror  of  the  past,  not  the  terror  of  the  future;  the  torture  of  self- 
condemnation,  not  the  fear  of  judgement ;  it  is  strong  as  her  soul,  deep  as  her  guilt, 
fatal  as  her  resolve,  and  terrible  as  her  crime. 

If  it  should  be  objected  to  this  view  of  Lady  Macbeth's  character,  that  it  engages 
our  sympathies  in  behalf  of  a  perverted  being, — and  that  to  leave  her  so  strong  a 
power  upon  our  feelings  in  the  midst  of  such  supreme  wickedness,  involves  a  moral 
wrong,  I  can  only  reply  in  the  words  of  Dr  Channing,  that  *  in  this  and  the  like 
cases  our  interest  fastens  on  what  is  not  evil  in  the  character, — that  there  is  some- 
thing kindling  and  ennobling  in  the  consciousness,  however  awakened,  of  the  energy 
which  resides  in  mind :  and  many  a  virtuous  man  has  borrowed  new  strength  from 
the  force,  constancy,  and  dauntless  courage  of  evil  agents.* 

This  is  true ;  and  might  he  not  have  added,  that  many  a  powerful  and  gifted  spirit 
has  learnt  humility  and  self-government  from  beholding  how  far  the  energy  which 
resides  in  mind  may  be  degraded  and  perverted  ? 

Campbell  (Life  of  Mrs  Siddom,  vol.  ii,  p.  6,  1834).  1  regard  Macbeth,  upon  the 
whole,  as  the  greatest  treasure  of  our  dramatic  literature.  We  may  look  as  Britons 
at  Greek  sculpture,  and  at  Italian  paintings,  with  a  humble  consciousness  that  our 
native  art  has  never  reached  their  perfection ;  but  in  the  drama  we  can  confront 


424  APPENDIX. 

,/Eschylus  himself  with  Shakespeare;  and  of  all  modem  theatres,  ours  alone  can 
compete  with  the  Greek  in  the  unborrowed  nativeness  and  sublimity  of  its  super- 
stition.  In  the  grandeur  of  tragedy  Macbeth  has  no  parallel,  till  we  go  back  to  the 
Prometheus  and  the  Furies  of  the  Attic  stage.  I  could  even  produce,  if  it  were  not 
digressing  too  far  from  my  subject,  innumerable  instances  of  striking  similarity  be- 
tween the  metaphorical  mintage  of  Shakespeare's  and  of  .^chylus's  style, — a  simi- 
larity, both  in  beauty  and  in  the  fault  of  excess,  that,  unless  the  contrary  had  been 
proved,  would  lead  me  to  suspect  our  great  dramatist  to  have  been  a  studious  Greek 
scholar.     But  their  resemblance  arose  only  from  the  consanguinity  of  nature. 

In  one  respect,  the  tragedy  of  Macbeth  always  reminds  me  of  i£schylus*s  poetry. 
It  has  scenes  and  conceptions  absolutely  too  bold  for  representation.  What  stage 
could  do  justice  to  ./Cschylus,  when  the  Titan  Prometheus  makes  his  appeal  to  the 
elements ;  and  when  the  hammer  is  heard  in  the  Scythian  Desert  that  rivets  his 
chains  ?  Or  when  the  Ghost  of  Clytemnestra  rushes  into  Apollo's  temple,  and  rouses 
the  sleeping  Furies  ?  I  wish  to  imagine  these  scenes :  I  should  be  sorry  to  see  the 
acting  of  them  attempted. 

In  like  manner,  there  are  parts  of  Macbeth  which  I  delight  to  read  much  more 
than  to  see  in  the  theatre.  When  the  drum  of  the  Scottish  army  is  heard  on  the  wild 
heath,  and  when  I  fancy  it  advancing,  with  its  bowmen  in  front,  and  its  spears  and 
banners  in  the  distance,  I  am  always  disappointed  with  Macbeth's  entrance,  at  the 
head  of  a  few  kilted  actors.  I  strongly  suspect  that  the  appearance  of  the  Weird 
Sisters  is  too  wild  and  poetical  for  the  possibility  of  its  being  ever  duly  acted  in  a 
theatre.  Even  with  the  exquisite  music  of  Locke,  the  orgies  of  the  Witches  at  their 
boiling  cauldron  is  a  burlesque  and  revolting  exhibition.  Could  any  stage  contri- 
vance make  it  seem  sublime  ?  No  ll  I  think  it  defies  theatrical  art  to  render  it  half 
so  welcome  as  when  we  read  it  by  the  mere  light  of  our  own  imaginations.  Never- 
theless, I  feel  no  inconsistency  in  reverting  from  these  remarks  to  my  first  assertion, 
that  all  in  all,  Macbeth  is  our  greatest  possession  in  dramatic  poetry.  It  was  restored 
to  our  Theatre  by  Garrick,  with  much  fewer  alterations  than  have  generally  muti 
lated  the  plays  of  Shakespeare.  For  two-thirds  of  a  century',  before  Garrick's  time, 
Macbeth  had  been  woi-se  than  banished  from  the  stage :  for  it  had  been  acted  with 
D'avenant's  alterations,  in  which  every  original  beauty  was  eith^  awkwardly  dis- 
guised or  arbitrarily  omitted.  Yet  so  ignorant  were  Englishmen,  that  The  TatUr 
quotes  Shakespeare's  Macbeth  from  D'avenant's  alteration  of  it;  and  when  Quin 
heard  of  Garrick's  intention  to  restore  the  original,  he  asked  in  astonishment,  *  liave 
I  not  all  this  time  been  acting  Shakespeare's  play  ?' 

(P.  44.)  In  a  general  view,  I  agree  with  both  of  the  fair  advocates  (Mrs  Siddons  and 
Mrs  Jameson)  of  Lady  Macbeth,  that  the  language  of  preceding  critics  was  rather 
unmeasured  when  they  describe  her  as  *  thoroughly  hateful^  invariably  savage,  and 
purely  demoniac.^  It  is  true,  that  the  ungenllemanly  epithet  *  fiend-like  *  is  applied 
to  her  by  Shakespeare  himself,  but  then  he  puts  it  into  the  mouth  of  King  Malcolm, 
who  might  naturally  be  incensed. 

Lady  Macbeth  is  not  thoroughly  hateful,  for  she  is  not  a  virago,  not  an  adulteress, 
not  impelled  by  revenge.  On  the  contrary,  she  expresses  no  feeling  of  personal  ma- 
lignity towards  any  human  being  in  the  whole  course  of  her  part.  Shakespeare  could 
have  easily  displayed  her  crimes  in  a  more  commonplace  and  accountable  light,  by 
assigning  some  feudal  grudge  as  a  mixed  motive  of  her  cruelty  to  Duncan;  but  h^ 
makes  her  a  murderess  in  cold  blood,  and  from  the  sole  motive  of  ambition,  wen 
knowing  that  if  he  had   broken  up  the  inhuman  serenity  of  her  remorselessoes 


CHARACTER  OF  LADY  MACBETH.^ CAMPBELL,    425 

by  the  ruffling  of  anger,  he  would  have  vulgarized  the  features  of  the  splendid 
Titaness. 

By  this  entire  absence  of  petty  vice  and  personal  virulence,  and  by  concentrating 
all  the  springs  of  her  conduct  into  the  one  determined  feeling  of  ambition,  the 
mighty  poet  has  given  her  character  a  statue-like  simplicity,  which,  thoujjh  cold,  is 
spirit-stirring,  from  the  wonder  it  excites,  and  which  is  imposing,  although  its 
respectability  consists,  as  far  as  the  heart  is  concerned,  in  merely  negative  decencies. 
How  many  villains  walk  the  world  in  credit  to  their  graves,  from  the  mere  fulfilment 
of  these  negative  decencies !  Had  Lady  Maclx:th  been  able  to  smother  her  hus- 
band's babblings,  she  might  have  been  one  of  them.  1 

Shakesi>eare  makes  her  a  great  character  by  calming  down  all  the  pettiness  of 
vice,  and  by  giving  her  only  one  ruling  passion,  which,  though  criminal,  has  at  least 
a  lofty  object,  corresponding  with  the  firmness  of  her  will  and  the  force  of  her  intel- 
lect. The  object  of  her  ambition  was  a  crown,  which,  in  the  days  in  which  we 
suppose  her  to  have  lived,  was  a  miniature  symbol  of  divinity.  Under  the  full  im- 
pression  of  her  intellectual  powers,  and  with  a  certain  allowance  which  we  make 
for  the  illusion  of  sorcery,  the  imagination  suggests  to  us  something  like  a  half- 
apology  for  her  ambition.  Though  I  can  vaguely  imagine  the  supernatural  agency 
of  the  spiritual  world,  yet  I  know  so  little  precisely  about  fiends  or  demons  that  I  ^ 
cannot  pretend  to  estimate  the  relation  of  their  natures  to  that  of  Shakespeare's  ^ 
heroine.  But,  as  a  human  being.  Lady  Macbeth  is  too  intellectual  to  be  thoroughly  \ 
hateful.  Moreover,  I  hold  it  no  paradox  to  say  that  the  strong  idea  which  Shake- 
speare conveys  to  us  of  her  intelligence  is  heightened  by  its  contrast  with  that  partial 
shade  which  is  thrown  over  it  by  her  sinful  will  giving  way  to  superstitious  influ- 
ences. At  times  she  is  deceived,  we  should  say,  prosaically  speaking,  by  the  infatu- 
ation of  her  own  wickedness,  or  poetically  speaking,  by  the  agency  of  infernal 
tempters ;  otherwise  she  could  not  have  imagined  for  a  moment  that  she  could  palm 
upon  the  world  the  chamberlains  of  Duncan  for  his  real  murderers.  Yet  her  mind, 
under  the  approach  of  this  portentous  and  unnatural  eclipse,  in  spite  of  its  black 
illusions,  has  light  enough  remaining  to  show  us  a  reading  of  Macbeth's  character, 
such  as  Lord  Bacon  could  not  have  given  to  us  more  philosophically,  or  in  fewer 
words. 

All  this,  however,  only  proves  Lady  Macbeth  to  be  a  character  of  brilliant  under- 
standing, lofty  determination,  and  negative  decency.     That  the  poet  meant  us  to 
conceive  her  more  than  a  piece  of  august  atrocity,  or  to  leave  a  tacit  understanding 
of  her  being  naturally  amiable,  I  make  bold  to  doubt.     Mrs  Siddons,  disposed  by 
her  own  nature  to  take  the  most  softened  view  of  her  heroine,  discovers,  in  her  con- 
duct towards  Macbeth,  a  dutiful  and  unselfish  tenderness,  which  I  own  is  far  from  # 
striking  me.     '  Lady  Macbeth,*  she  says, '  seeks  out  Macbeth  that  she  may  at  least  \ 
participate  in  his  wretchedness.'     But  is  that  her  real  motive  ?    No ;  Lady  Macbeth  * 
in  that  scene  seems  to  me  to  have  no  other  object  than  their  common  preservation.  I 
She  finds  that  he  is  shunning  society,  and  is  giving  himself  up  to  *  his  sorry  fancies.'  ' 
Her  trying  to  snatch  him  from  these  is  a  matter  of  policy ; — a  proof  of  her  sagacity, 
and  not  of  her  social  sensibility.    At  least,  insensitive  as  we  have  seen  her  to  the 
slightest  joy  at  the  return  of  ^er  husband,  it  seems  unnecessary  to  ascribe  to  her  any 
new-sprung  tenderness,  when  self-interest  sufficiently  accounts  for  her  conduct. 

Both  of  her  fair  advocates  lay  much  stress  on  her  alistaining  from  vituperation 
towards  Macbeth,  when  she  exhorts  him  to  retire  to  rest,  after  the  banquet.    But 
here  I  must  own  that  I  can  see  no  proof  of  her  positive  tenderness.     Repose  was 
36* 


426  APPENDIX. 

necessary  to  Macbeth's  recovery.  Their  joint  fate  was  hanging  by  a  hair ;  and  she 
knew  that  a  breath  of  her  reproach,  by  inflaming  him  to  madness,  would  break  thut 
hair,  and  plunge  them  both  into  exposure  and  ruin.  Common  sense  is  always 
respectable ;  and  here  it  is  joined  with  command  of  temper  and  matrimonial  faith. 
But  still  her  object  includes  her  own  preservation ;  and  we  have  no  proof  of  her 
alleged  tenderness  and  sensibility. 

If  Lady  Macbeth*s  male  critics  have  dismissed  her  with  ungallant  haste  suid 
harshness,  I  think  the  eloquent  authoress  of  the  Characteristics  of  IVotnen  has  tried 
rather  too  elaborately  to  prove  her  positive  virtues,  by  speculations  which,  to  say  the 
least  of  them,  if  they  be  true,  are  not  certain.  She  goes  beyond  Mrs  Siddons*s  tol- 
eration of  the  heroine;  and,  getting  absolutely  in  love  with  her,  exclaims,  *  What 
would  not  the  firmness,  the  self-command,  the  ardent  affections,  of  this  woman  have 
performed  if  properly  directed!'  Why,  her  firmness  and  self-command  are  very' 
evident ;  but  as  to  her  ardent  af)ections,  I  would  ask,  on  what  other  object  on  earth 
she  bestows  them  except  the  crown  of  Scotland  ?  We  are  told,  however,  that  her 
husband  loves  her,  and  that  therefore  she  could  not  be  naturally  bad.  But,  in  the 
first  place,  though  we  are  not  directly  told  so,  we  may  be  fairly  allowed  to  imagine 
her  a  very  beautiful  woman ;  and,  with  beauty  and  superior  intellect,  it  is  easy  to 
conceive  her  managing  and  making  herself  necessary  to  Macbeth,  a  man  compara- 
tively weak,  and,  as  we  see,  facile  to  wickedness.  There  are  instances  of  atrocious 
women  having  swayed  the  hearts  of  more  amiable  men.  What  debars  me  from 
imagining  that  Lady  Macbeth  had  obtained  this  conjugal  ascendency  by  anything 
amiable  in  her  nature  is  that  she  elicits  Macbeth's  warmest  admiration  in  the  utter- 
ance of  atrocious  feelings ;  at  least  such  I  consider  those  expressions  to  be  which 
precede  his  saying  to  her,  *  Bring  forth  men-children  only.* 

But  here  I  am  again  at  issue  with  [Mrs  Jameson],  who  reads  in  those  very  expres- 
sions, that  strike  me  as  proofs  of  atrocity,  distinct  evidence  of  Lady  MacbetiCs  amia' 
bU  character:  since  she  declares  that  she  had  known  what  it  was  to  have  loved  the 
offspring  she  suckled.  The  majority  of  she-wolves,  I  conceive,  would  make  the 
same  declaration,  if  they  could  speak,  though  they  would  probably  omit  the  addition 
about  dashing  out  the  suckling's  brains.  Again :  she  is  amiably  unable  to  murder 
the  sleeping  king,  because,  to  use  Mrs  Jameson's  words,  *  he  brings  to  her  the  dear 
and  venerable  image  of  her  father.'  Yes ;  but  she  can  send  in  her  husband  to  do 
it  for  her.  Did  Shakespeare  intend  us  to  believe  this  murderess  naturally  com- 
passionate ? 

It  seems  to  me,  also,  to  be  far  from  self-evident  that  Lady  Macbeth  is  not  natu- 
rally cruel,  because  she  calls  on  all  the  demons  of  human  thought  to  unsex  her ;  or 
because  she  dies  of  what  her  apologist  calls  remorse,  jif  by  that  word  we  mean 
true  contrition,  Shakespeare  gives  no  proof  of  her  havmg  shown  such  a  feeling. 
Her  death  is  mysterious,  and  we  generally  attribute  it  to  despair  and  suicide.  Even 
her  terrible  and  thrice-repeated  sob  of  agony,  in  the  sleep-walking  scene,  shows  a 
conscience  haunted  indeed  by  terrors,  but  not  penitent;  for  she  still  adheres  to  her 
godless  old  ground  of  comfort,  that  *  Banquo  is  in  his  grave.* 

She  dies, — she  is  swept  away  darkly  from  before  us  to  her  great  account.  I  say 
that  we  have  a  tragic  satisfaction  in  her  death :  and  though  I  grant  that  we  do  not 
exult  over  her  fate,  yet  I  find  no  argument,  in  this  circumstance,  against  her  natural 
enormity.  To  see  a  fellow-creature,  a  beautiful  woman,  with  a  bright,  bold  intellect, 
*»hus  summoned  to  her  destiny,  creates  a  religious  feeling  too  profound  for  exultation. 

In  this  terribly  swift  succession  of  her  punishment  to  her  crimes,  lies  one  of  the 


CHARACTER  OF  LADY  MACBETH.^MAGINN.       427 

master-traits  of  skill  by  which  Shakespeare  contrives  to  make  us  blend  an  awful 
feeling,  somewhat  akin  to  pity,  with  our  satisfaction  at  her  death. 

Still  I  am  persuaded  that  Shakespeare  never  meant  her  for  anything  better  than  a 
character  of  superb  depravity,  and  a  being,  with  all  her  decorum  and  force  of  mind, 
naturally  cold  and  remorseless.  When  Mrs  Jameson  asks  us,  what  might  not  re- 
ligion have  made  of  such  a  character  ?  she  puts  a  question  that  will  equally  apply  to 
every  other  enormous  criminal ;  for  the  worst  heart  that  ever  beat  in  a  human  breast 
would  be  at  once  rectified,  if  you  could  impress  it  with  a  genuine  religious  faith. 
But  if  Shakespeare  intended  us  to  believe  Lady  Macbeth's  nature  a  soil  peculiarly 
adapted  for  the  growth  of  religion,  he  has  chosen  a  way  very  unlike  his  own  wisdom 
in  portraying  her,  for  he  exhibits  her  as  a  practical  infidel  in  a  simple  age :  and  he 
makes  her  words  sum  up  all  the  essence  of  that  unnatural  irreligion,  which  cannot 
spring  up  to  the  head  without  having  its  root  in  a  callous  heart.  She  holds  that  <  The 
sleeping  and  the  dead  Are  but  as  pictures.'  And  that,  *•  Things  without  all  remedy 
Should  be  without  regard.'  There  is  something  hideous  in  the  very  strength  of  her 
mind,  that  can  dive  down,  like  a  wounded  monster,  to  such  depths  of  consolation. 

She  is  a  splendid  picture  of  evil,  nevertheless, — a  sort  of  sister  of  Milton's  Lucifer; 
and,  like  him,  we  surely  imagine  her  externally  majestic  and  beautiful.  Mrs  Sid- 
dons*s  idea  of  her  having  been  a  delicate  and  blonde  beauty,  seems  to  me  to  be  a 
pure  caprice.  The  public  would  have  ill  exchanged  such  a  representative  of  Lady 
Macbeth,  for  the  dark  locks  and  tlie  eagle  eyes  of  Mrs  Siddons. 


\y  Maginn  {Shakespeare  Papers^  i860,  p.  184).  By  Malcolm  Lady  Macbeth  is  stig- 
matized as  the  *  fiend-like  queen.'  Except  her  share  in  the  murder  of  Duncan, — 
which  is,  however,  quite  sufficient  to  justify  the  epithet  in  the  mouth  of  his  son, — 
she  does  nothing  in  the  play  to  deserve  the  title ;  and  for  her  crime  she  has  l^een 
sufficiently  punished  by  a  life  of  disaster  and  remorse,  y  She  is  not  the  tem[)ter.of 
lylacbfith.  It  does  not  recjuire  much  philosophy  to  pfbnounce  that  there  were  no 
such  beings  as  the  Weird  Sisters ;  or  that  the  voice  that  told  the  Thane  of  Glamis  that 
he  was  to  be  King  of  Scotland,  was  that  of  his  own  ambition.  In  his  own  bosom 
was  brewed  the  hell-broth,  potent  to  call  up  visions  counselling  tyranny  and  blood ; 
and  its  ingredients  were  his  own  evil  passions  and  criminal  hopes.  Macbeth  him- 
self only  believes  as  much  of  the  predictions  of  the  witches  as  he  desires.  The 
same  prophets,  who  foretold  his  elevation  to  the  throne,  foretold  also  that  the  progeny 
of  Banquo  would  reign ;  and  yet,  after  the  completion  of  the  prophecy  so  far  as  he 
is  himself  concerned,  he  endeavors  to  mar  the  other  part  by  the  murder  of  Fleance. 
The  Weird  Sisters  arc  to  him,  no  more  than  the  Evil  Spirit  which,  in  Faust^  tortures 
Margaret  at  her  prayers.  They  are  but  the  personified  suggestions  of  his  mind. 
She,  the  wife  of  his  bosom,  knows  the  direction  of  his  thoughts ;  and  lK>und  to  him 
in  love,  exerts  every  energy,  and  sacrifices  every  feeling,  to  minister  to  his  hopes  and 
aspirations.  This  is  her  sin,  and  no  more.  He  retains,  in  all  his  guilt  and  crime,  a 
fond  feeling  for  his  wife.  Even  when  meditating  slaughter,  and  dreaming  of  blood, 
he  addresses  soft  Words  of  conjugal  endearment;  he  calls  her  *  dearest  chuck,'  while 
devising  assassinations,  with  the  foreknowledge  of  which  he  is  unwilling  to  sully  her 
mind.  Selfish  in  ambition,  selfish  in  fear,  his  character  presents  no  point  of  attrac- 
tion but  this  one  merit.  Shakespeare  gives  us  no  hint  as  to  her  personal  charms, 
except  when  he  makes  her  describe  her  hand  as  <  little.'  We  may  be  sure  that  there 
were  few  *  more  thoroughbred  or  fairer  fingers '  in  the  land  of  Scotland  than  those 
of  its  queen,  whose  bearing  in  public  towards  Duncan,  Banquo,  and  the  nobles,  is 


428  APPENDIX. 

marked  by  elegance  and  majesty;  and,  in  private,  by  affectionate  anxiety  for  her 
sanguinary  lord.  He  duly  appreciated  her  feelings,  but  it  is  a  pity  that  such  a  woman 
should  have  been  united  to  such  a  man.  If  she  had  been  less  strong  of  purpose,  less 
worthy  of  confidence,  he  would  not  have  disclosed  to  her  his  ambitious  designs ;  less 
resolute  and  prompt  of  thought  and  action,  she  would  not  have  been  called  on  to 
share  his  guilt ;  less  sensitive  or  more  hardened,  she  would  not  have  suffered  it  to 
prey  forever  like  a  vulture  upon  her  heart. /She  affords,  as  I  consider  it,  only  another 
instance  of  what  women  will  be  brought  to,  by  a  love  which  listens  to  no  considera- 
tions, which  disregards  all  else  beside,  when  the  interests,  the  wishes,  the  happiness, 
the  honour,  or  even  the  passions,  caprices,  and  failings  of  the  beloved  object  are  con- 
cerned ;  and  if  the  world,  in  a  compassionate  mood,  will  gently  scan  the  softer  errors 
of  sister-woman,  may  we  not  claim  a  kindly  construing  for  tlie  motives  which  plunged 
into  the  Aceldama  of  this  blood-washed  tragedy  the  sorely-urged  and  broken-hearted 
Lady  Macbeth  ? 

BUCKNILL  {^Mad  Folk  of  Shakespeare ^  p.  44).  What  was  Lady  Macbeth's  form  and 
temperament  ?  In  Maclise*s  great  painting,  of  the  banquet  scene,  she  is  represented 
as  a  woman  of  large  and  coarse  developement ;  a  Scandinavian  Amazon,  the  muscles 
of  whose  brawny  arms  could  only  have  been  developed  to  their  great  size  by  hard 

and  frequent  use ;  a  woman  of  whose  fists  her  husband  might  well  be  afraid 

Was  Lady  Macbeth  such  a  being  ?  Did  the  fierce  fire  of  her  soul  animate  the  epicene 
bulk  of  a  virago  ?  Never !  Lady  Macbeth  was  a  lady,  beautiful  and  delicate,  whose 
one  vivid  passion  proves  that  her  organization  was  instinct  with  nerve-force,  unop- 
pressed  by  weight  of  flesh.  Probably  she  was  small ;  for  it  is  the  sinaller  sort  of 
women  whose  emotional  fire  is  the  most  fierce,  and  she  herself  bears  unconscious 

testimony  to  the  fact  that  her  hand  was  little Although  she  manifests  no 

feeling  towards  Macbeth  beyond  the  regard  which  ambition  makes  her  yield,  it  is 
clear  that  he  entertains  for  her  the  personal  love  which  a  beautiful  woman  would  ex- 
cite  Moreover,  the  effect  of  remorse  upon  her  own  health  proves  the  prepon- 
derance of  nerve  in  her  organization.  Could  the  Lady  Macbeth  of  Maclise,  and  of 
others  who  have  painted  this  lady,  have  been  capable  of  the  fire  and  force  of  her 
character  in  the  commission  of  her  crimes,  the  remembrance  of  them  would  scarcely 
have  disturbed  the  quiet  of  her  after  years.  We  figure  Lady  Macbeth  to  have  been 
a  tawny  or  brown  blonde  Rachel,  with  more  beauty,  with  grey  and  cruel  eyes,  but 
with  the  same  slight,  dry  configuration  and  constitution,  instinct  with  determined 
nerve-power.  [In  a  foot-note,  Dr  Bucknill  states  that  when  he  wrote  the  above  he 
was  not  aware  that  Mrs  Siddons  held  a  similar  opinion  as  to  Lady  Macbeth*s  personal 
appearance.  Ed.] 


FLETCHER. 

Fletcher  (Studies  of  Shakespeare^  London,  1847,  P»  ^09).  Macbeth  seems 
mspired  by  the  very  genius  of  the  tempest.  ^This  drama  shows  us  the  gathering, 
the  discharge,  and  the  dispelling  of  a  domestic  and  political  storm,  which  takes 


0 


FLETCHER.  429 

its  peculiar  hue  from  the  individual  character  of  the  hero.  It  is  not^in  the  spirit  of 
mischief  that  animates  the  *  weird  sisters,'  nor  in  the  passionate  and  strong-willed 
ambition  of  Lady  Macbeth,  that  we  find  the  mainspring  of  this  tragedj^but  in  the 
disproportioned  though  poetically  tempered  soul  of  Macbeth  himself./^  A  character 
like  his,  of  extreme  selfishness,  with  a  most  irritable  fancy,  must  prcWuce,  even  in 
ordinary  circumstances,  an  excess  of  morbid  apprehensiveness ;  which,  however,  as 
we  see  in  him,  is  not  inconsistent  with  the  greatest  physical  courage,  but  generates 
of  necessity  the  most  entire  moral  cowardice.  When,  therefore,  a  man  like  this,  ill 
enough  qualified  even  for  the  honest  and  straightforward  transactions  of  life,  has 
brought  himself  to  snatch  at  an  ambitious  object  by  the  commission  of  one  great 
sanguinary  crime,  the  new  and  false  position  in  which  he  finds  himself  by  his  very 
success  will  but  startle  and  exasperate  him  to  escape,  as  Macbeth  says,  from  *  horri- 
ble imaginings  *  by  the  perpetration  of  greater  and  greater  actual  horrors,  till  inev- 
itable destruction  comes  upon  hi^  amidst  universal  execration.  Such,  briefly,  are  the 
story  and  the  moral  of  Ma€bethl\  The  passionate  ambition  and  indomitable  will  of  his 
lady,  though  agents  indispensable  to  urge  such  a  man  to  the  one  decisive  act  which 
is  to  compromise  him  in  his  own  opinio^  and  that  of  the  world,  are  by  no  means 
primary  springs  of  the  dramatic  action. [  Nor  do  the  'weird  sisters*  themselves  do 
more  than  aid  collaterally  in  impelling  a  man,  the  inherent  evil  of  whose  nature  and 
purpose  has  predisposed  him  to  take  their  equivocal  suggestions  in  the  most  mis- 
chievous sense.^And,  finally,  the  very  thunder-cloud  which,  from  the  beginning 
almost  to  the  ending,  wraps  this  fearful  tragedy  in  physical  darkness  and  lurid  glare, 
does  but  reflect  and  harmonize  with  the  moral  blackness  of  the  piece.  .  .  . 

The  very  starting-point  for  an  encjuiry  into  the  real,  inherent,  and  habitual  nature 
of  Macbeth,  independent  of  those  particular  circumstances  which  form  the  action 
of  the  play,  lies  manifestly,  tliough  the  critics  have  commonly  overlooked  it,  in  the 
question.  With  whom  does  the  scheme  of  usurping  the  Scottish  crown  by  the  murder 
of  Duncan  actually  originate  ?  We  sometimes  find  Lady  Macbeth  talked  of  as  if 
she  were  the  first  contriver  of  the  plot,  and  suggester  of  the  assassination ;  but  this 
notion  is  refuted,  not  only  \q  implication,  in  the  whole  tenour  of  the  piece,  but  most 
explicitly  in  I,  vii,  48-52.  (Most  commonly,  however,  the  witches  (as  we  find  the 
*  weird  sisters '  pertinaciously  miscalled  by  all  sorts  of  players  and  of  critics)  have 
borne  the  imputation  of  being  the  first  to  put  this  piece  of  mischief  in  the  hero's 
mind.  Yet  the  prophetic  words  in  which  the  attainment  of  royalty  is  promisoi  him 
contain  not  the  remotest  hint  as  to  the  means  by  which  he  is  to  arrive  at  it.  |:They 
are  simply  'All  hail,  Macbeth!  that  shalt  be  king  hereafter,' — an  announcement 
which,  it  is  plain,  should  have  rather  inclined  a  man  who  was  not  already  harbour- 
ing a  scheme  of  guilty  ambition,  to  wait  quietly  the  course  of  events.  {According  to 
Macbeth's  own  admission,  the  words  of  the  weird  sisters  on  this  occasion  convey 
anything  rather  than  an  incitement  to  murder  to  the  mind  of  a  man  who  is  not 
meditating  it  already.  This  supernatural  soliciting  is  only  made  such  to  the  mind 
of  Macbeth  by  the  fact  that  he  is  already  occupied  with  a  purpose  of  assassina- 
tion. This  is  the  true  answer  to  the  question  which  he  puts  to  himself  in  I,  iii, 
132-142.  .  .  . 

//'The  first  thing  that  strikes  us  in  such  a  character  is  the  intense  selfishness, — the 
total  absence  both  of  sympathetic  feeling  and  moral  principle, — and  the  consequent 
«  incapability  of  remorse  in  the  proper  sense  of  the  term.  So  far  from  finding  any 
check  tc#  his  design  in  the  fact  that  the  king  l)estows  on  him  the  forfeited  title  of  the 
Iraitorou^  thane  of  Cawdor  as  an  especial  mark  of  confidence  in  his  loyalty,  this 


\ 


430  APPENDIX. 

only  serves  to  whet  his  own  villainous  purpose.     The  dramatist  has  brought  th'In 
forcibly  home  to  us  in  I,  iv,  10-58.     It  is  from  no  *  compunctious  visiting  of  nature,'     ^ 

^  but  from  sheer  moral  cowardice, — from  fear  of  retribution  in  this  life, — ^that  we  find 
Macbeth  shrinking,  at  the  last  moment,  from  the  commission  of  his  enormous  crime.  J* 
This  will  be  seen  the  more  attentively  we  consider  I,  vii,  1-25,  and  31-35.  In  aJJ^ 
this  we  trace  a  most  clear  consciousness  of  the  impossibility  that  he  should  find  of 
masking  his  guilt  from  the  public  eye, — ^the  odium  which  must  consequently  fall 
upon  him  in  the  opinions  of  men, — and  the  retribution  it  would  probably  bring  upon 
him.  But  here  is  no  evidence  of  true  moral  repugnance,  and  as  little  of  any  re- 
ligious scruple, — *  We'd  jump  the  life  to  come.'  The  dramatist,  by  this  brief  but 
significant  parenthesis,  has  taken  care  to  leave  us  in  no  doubt  on  a  point  so  moment- 
ous towards  forming  a  due  estimate  of  the  conduct  of  his  hero.  However,  he  feels, 
as  we  see,  the  dissuading  motives  of  worldly  prudence  in  all  their  force.     But  one 

^  devouring  passion  urges  him  on, — the  master- passion  of  his  life, — the  lust  of  power, 
I,  vii,  26.  Still,  it  should  seem  that  the  considerations  of  policy  and  safety  regard- 
ing this  life  might  even  have  withheld  him  from  the  actual  commission  of  the  mur- 
der, had  not  the  spirit  of  his  wife  come  in  to  fortify  his  failing  purpose.  At  all 
events,  in  the  action  of  the  drama  it  is  her  intervention,  most  decidedly,  that  termi- 
nates his  irresolution,  and  urges  him  to  the  final  perpetration  of  the  crime  which  he 
himself  had  been  the  first  to  meditate. y/ 

It  has  been  customary  to  talk  of^ady  Macbeth  as  of  a  woman  in  whom  the 
love  of  power  for  its  own  sake  not  only  predominates  over,  but  almost  excludes, 
every  human  affection,  every  sympathetic  feeling.  But  the  more  closely  the  dra- 
matic developement  of  this  character  is  examined,  the  more  fallacious,  we  believe, 
this  view  of  the  matter  will  be  found.  Had  Shakespeare  intended  so  to  repre- 
sent her,  he  would  probably  have  made  her  the  first  contriver  of  the  assassination 
scheme.  For  our  own  part,  we  regard  the  very  passage  which  has  commonly 
been  quoted  as  decisive  that  personal  and  merely  selfish  ambition  is  her  all- 
I  absorbing  motive,  as  proving  in  reality  quite  the  contrary.  It  is  true  that  even 
Coleridge  desires  us  to  remark  that  in  her  opening  scene  *  she  evinces  no  womanly 
life,  no  wifely  joy,  at  the  return  of  her  husband,  no  pleased  terrors  at  the  thought 
of  his  past  dangers.'  We  mu$t,  however,  beg  to  observe  that  she  shows  what 
she  knows  to  be  far  more  gratifying  to  her  husband  at  that  moment,  the  most 
^  eager  and  passionate  sympathy  in  the  great  master-wish  and  purpose  of  his  mind. 
Has  it  ever  been  contended  that  Macbeth  shows  none  of  the  natural  and  proper 
feelings  of  a  husband,  because  their  common  scheme  of  murderous  ambition  forms 
the  whole  burden  of  his  letter  which  she  has  been  perusing  just  before  their  meet- 
ing ?  Can  anything  more  clearly  denote  a  thorough  union  between  this  pair,  in 
affection  as  well  as  ambition,  than  the  single  expression,  ^My  dearest  partner  of 
greatness '  ?  And  seeing  that  his  last  words  to  her  had  contained  the  injunction  to 
lay  their  promised  greatness  to  her  heart  as  her  chief  subject  of  rejoicing,  are  not 
the  first  words  that  she  addresses  to  him  on  their  meeting  the  most  natural,  sympa- 
thetic, and  even  obedient  response  to  the  charge  which  he  has  given  her?  See  I, 
V,  52-55.  We  do  maintain  that  there  is  no  less  of  affectionate  than  of  ambitious 
feeling  conveyed  in  these  lines, — nay,  more,  it  is  her  prospect  of  his  exaltation, 
chiefly,  that  draws  from  her  this  burst  of  passionate  anticipation,  breathing  almost  a 
lover's  ardour.  Everything,  we  say,  concurs  to  show  that,  primarily,  she  cherishes 
the  scheme  of  criminal  usurpation  as  his  object, — the  attainment  of  which  she  mis- 
takenly believes  will  render  him  happier  as  well  as  greater;  for  it  must  be  carefully 


FLETCHER.  43 1 

borne  in  mind  that,  while  Macbeth  wavers  as  to  the  adoption  of  the  means,  his 
longinp;  for  the  object  itself  is  constant  and  increasing,  so  that  his  wife  sees  him 
growing  daity  more  and  more  uneasy  and  restless  under  this  unsatisfied  craving.  .  .  . 
She  is  fully  a\vare,  indeed,  of  the  moral  guiltiness  of  her  husband's  design, — that 
he  *  would  wrongly  win,'  and  of  the  suspicion  which  they  are  likely  to  incur,  but 
the  dread  of  which  she  repels  by  considering,  *  What  need  we  fear  who  knows  it, 
when  none  can  call  our  power  to  account  ?'  Nor  is  she  inaccessible  to  remorse 
The  very  passionateness  of  her  wicked  invocation,  *  Come,  come,  you  spirits,'  &c.- 
is  a  proof  of  this.  We  have  not  here  the  language  of  a  cold-blooded  murderess,^ 
but  the  vehement  effort  of  uncontrollable  desire  to  silence  the  *  still,  small  voice ' 
of  her  human  and  feminine  conscience.  This  very  violence  results  from  the  resist- 
ance of  that « milk  of  human  kindness '  in  her  own  bosom,  of  which  she  fears  the 
operation  in  her  husband's  breast.  Of  religious  impressions,  indeed,  it  should  be 
carefully  noted  that  she  seems  to  have  even  less  than  her  husband. 

On  the  other  hand,  it  is  plain  that  she  covets  the  crown  for  her  husband,  even  ) 
more  eagerly  than  he  desires  it  for  himself.     With  as  great,  or  greater,  vehemence  ( 
of  passion  than  he,  she  has  none  of  his  excitable  imagination.    Herein,  we  conceive,  .^ 
lies  the  second  essential  difference  of  character  between  them ;  from  whence  pro- 
ceeds, by  necessary  consequence,  that  indomitable  steadiness  to  a  purpose  on  which 
her  heart  is  once  thoroughly  bent,  which  so  perfectly  contrasts  with  the  incurably 
fluctuating  habit  of  mind  in  her  husband.     She  covets  for  him,  we  say,  *  the  golden 
round  *  more  passionately  even  than  he  can  covet  it  for  himself, — nay,  more  so,  it 
seems  to  us,  than  she  would  have  coveted  it  for  her  own  individual  brows.     Free 
from  all  the  apprehensions  conjured  up  by  an  irritable  fancy, — from  all  the  *  horrible 
imaginings '  which  beset  Macl)eth, — her  promptness  of  decision  and  fixedness  of  will 
are  proportioned  to  her  intensity  of  desire ;  so  that,  although  JULhasJbeen  the  first 
contriver  of  the  scheme,  she  has  been  the  first  to  resolve  immovably  that  it  shall  be 

carried  into  effect Her  quiet  reply,  •  We  fail,'  is  every  way  most  characteristic 

of  the  speaker, — expressing  that  moral  firmness  in  herself  which  makes  her  quite 
prepared  to  endure  the  consequences  of  failure, — and,  at  the  same  time,  conveying 
the  most  decisive  rebuke  of  such  moral  cowardice  in  her  husband  as  can  make  him 
recede  from  a  purpose  merely  on  account  of  the  possibility  of  defeat, — a  possibility 
which,  up  to  the  very  completion  of  their  design,  seems  never  absent  from  her  own 
mind,  though  she  finds  it  necessary  to  banish  it  from  that  of  her  husband.  .  .  . 

It  is  most  important  that  we  should  not  mistake  the  nature  of  Macbeth's  nervous 
perturbation  while  in  the  very  act  of  consummating  his  first  great  crime.  The  more 
closely  we  examine  it,  the  more  we  shall  find  it  to  be  devoid  of  all  genuine  com- 
punction. This  character  is  one  of  intense  selfishness,  and  is  therefore  incapable  of 
any  true  moral  repugnance  to  inflicting  injur)'  upon  others;  it  shrinks  only  from 
encountering  public  odium,  and  the  retribution  which  that  may  produce.  Once 
persuaded  that  these  will  be  avoided,  Macbeth  falters  not  in  proceeding  to  apply  the 
dagger  to  the  throat  of  his  sleeping  guest.  But  here  comes  the  display  of  the  other 
part  of  his  charact^, — that  extreine  nervous  irritability,  which,  combined  with  an 
active  intellect,  produces  in  him  so  much  highly  poetical  rumination, — and  at  the 
same  time,  being  unaccompanied  with  the  slightest  portion  of  self-command,  subjects 
him  to  such  signal  moral  cowardice.  We  feel  bound  the  more  earnestly  to  solicit 
the  reader's  attention  to  this  distinction,  since,  though  so  clearly  evident  when  once 
pointed  out,  it  has  escaped  the  penetration  of  some  even  of  the  most  eminent  critics. 
The  poetry  delivered  by  Macbeth,  let  us  repeat,  is  not  the  poetry  inspired  liy  a  glow- 


432  APPENDIX. 

ing  or  even  a  feeling  heart, — it  springs  exclusively  from  a  morbidly  irritable  fancy. 
We  hesitate  not  to  say,  that  his  wife  mistakes,  when  she  apprehends  that  the  '  milk 
of  human  kindness  *  will  prevent  him  from  <  catching  the  nearest  way.'  The  fact  is 
that,  until  after  the  banquet  scene,  she  mistakes  his  character  throughout.  She  judges 
of  it  too  much  from  her  own.  Possessing  generous  feeling  herself,  she  is  susceptible 
of  remorse.  Full  of  self-control,  and  afflicted  with  no  feverish  imagination,  she  is 
dismayed  by  no  vague  apprehensions,  no  fantastic  fears.  G>nsequently,  when  her 
husband  is  withheld  from  his  crime  simply  by  that  dread  of  contingent  consequences 
which  his  fancy  so  infinitely  exaggerates,  she,  little  able  to  conceive  of  this,  naturally 
ascribes  some  part  of  his  repugnance  to  that  '  milk  of  human  kindness,'  those  <  com- 
punctious visitings  of  nature,*  of  which  she  can  conceive.  .  .  . /The  perturbation 
which  seizes  Macbeth  the  instant  he  has  struck  the  fatal  blow,  springs  not,  we  repeat, 
from  the  slightest  consideration  for  his  victim.  It  is  but  the  necessary  recoil  in  the 
mind  of  every  moral  coward,  upon  the  final  performance  of  any  decisive  act  from 
which  accumulating  selfish  apprehensions  have  long  withheld  him, — heightened  and 
exaggerated  by  that  excessive  morbid  irritability  which,  ajfter  his  extreme  selfishness, 
forms  the  next  great  moral  characteristic  of  Macbeth,  /t  is  the  sense  of  all  the  pos^ 
sible  consequences  to  himself ^  and  that  alone,  which  rushes  instantly  and  overwhelm- 
ingly upon  his  excitable  fancy,  so  as  to  thunder  its  denunciations  in  his  very  ears, 

.  .  .  •  And  here,  let  us  observe,  is  the  point,  above  all  others  in  this  wonderful 
scene,  which  most  strikingly  illustrates  the  two-fold  contrast  subsisting  between  these 
two  characters.  Macbeth,  having  no  true  remorse,  shrinks  not  at  the  last  moment 
from  perpetrating  the  murder,  though  his  nervous  agitation  will  not  let  him  contem- 
plate for  an  instant  the  aspect  of  the  murdered.  A^ady  Macl>eth,  on  the  contrary, 
having  real  remorse,  does  recoil  at  the  last  moment  from  the  very  act  to  which  she 
had  been  using  such  violent  and  continued  efforts  to  work  herself  up ;  but,  being 
totally  free  from  her  husband's  irritability  of  fancy,  can,  now  that  his  very  preservo' 
tion  demands  it,  go  deliberately  to  look  upon  the  sanguinary  work  which  her  own 
hand  had  shrunk  from  performing. 

The  following  scene  shews  us  Macbeth  when  his  paroxysm  ensuing  upon  the  act 
of  murder  has  quite  spent  itself,  and  he  is  become  quite  himself  again, — that  is,  the 
cold-blooded,  cowardly,  and  treacherous  assassin.  Let  any  one  who  may  have  been 
disposed,  with  most  of  the  critics,  to  believe  thai  Shakespeare  has  delineated  Mac- 
beth as  a  character  originally  remorseful,  well  consider  that  speech  of  most  elaborate, 
refined,  and  cold-blooded  hypocrisy,  in  which,  so  speedily  after  his  poetical  whiningb 
over  his  own  misfortune  in  murdering  Duncan,  he  alleges  his  motives  for  killing  the 
two  sleeping  attendants.  Assuredly,  too,  the  dramatist  had  his  reasons  for  causing 
Macbeth's  hypocritically  pathetic  description  of  the  scene  of  the  murder  to  be  thus 
publicly  delivered  in  the  presence  of  her  whose  hands  have  had  so  large  a  share  in 
giving  it  that  particular  aspect.  It  lends  double  force  to  this  most  characteristic  trait 
of  Macbeth's  deportment,  that  he  should  not  be  moved  even  by  his  lady's  presence 
from  delivering  his  affectedly  indignant  description  of  that  bloody  spectacle,  in  terms 
which  must  so  vividly  recall  to  her  mind's  eye  the  sickening  objects  which  his  own 
moral  cowardice  had  compelled  her  to  gaze  upon.  His  words  draw  from  Lady 
Macbeth  the  instant  exclamation,  *  Help  me  hence,  ho !'  And  shortly  after,  she  is 
carried  out,  still  in  a  fainting  state.  The  prevalent  notion  respecting  this  passage, 
grounded  on  the  constantly  false  view  of  the  lady's  character,  is,  that  her  swooning 
is  merely  a  feigned  display  of  horror  at  the  discovery  of  their  Sovereign's  being 
murdered  in  their  own  house,  and  at  the  vivid  picture  of  the  sanguinary  scene  drawn 


FLETCHER.  433 

by  her  husband.  We  believe,  however,  that  our  previous  examination  of  her  cha- 
racter must  already  have  prepared  the  reader  to  give  to  this  circumstance  quite  a  dif- 
ferent interpretation.  He  will  bear  in  mind  the  burst  of  anguish  which  had  been 
forced  from  her  by  Macbeth's  very  first  ruminations  upon  his  act :  *  These  deeds 
must  not  be  thought  After  these  ways ;  so,  it  will  make  us  mad,^  Remembering  this, 
he  will  see  what  a  dreadful  accumulation  of  suffering  is  inflicted  upon  her  by  her 
husband's  own  lips  in  the  speech  we  have  just  cited  [II,  iii,  10S-113],  painting  in 
stronger,  blacker  colours  than  ever,  the  guilty  horror  of  their  common  deed.  Even 
her  indomitable  resolution  may  well  sink  for  the  moment  under  a  stroke  so  withering, 
for  which,  being  totally  unexpected,  she  came  so  utterly  unprepared.  It  is  remarkable, 
that,  upon  her  exclamation  of  distress,  Macduff,  and  shortly  after,  Banquo,  cries  out, 
'  Look  to  the  lady ;'  but  that  we  find  not  the  smallest  sign  of  attention  paid  to  her 
situation  by  Macbeth  himself,  who,  arguing  from  his  own  character  to  hers,  might 
regard  it  merely  as  a  dexterous  feigning  on  her  part.  A  character  like  this,  we  can- 
not too  often  repeat,  is  one  of  the  most  cowardly  selfishness,  and  most  remorseless 
treachcf}',  which  all  its  poetical  excitability  does  but  exasperate  into  the  perpetration 
of  more  and  more  extravagant  enormities.  .  .  . 

'  But  in  them  nature's  copy  's  not  eteme '  has  been  interpreted  by  some  critics  as 
a  deliberate  suggesting,  on  Lady  Macbeth's  part,  of  the  murder  of  Banquo  and  his 
son.  .  .  .  The  natural  and  unstrained  meaning  of  the  words  is,  at  most,  nothing 
more  than  this,  that  Banquo  and  his  son  are  not  immortal.  It  is  not  she,  but  her 
husband,  that  draws  a  practical  inference  from  this  harmless  proposition.      That 

*  they  are  assailable '  may  be  *  comfort,*  indeed,  to  him  ;  but  it  is  evidently  none  to 
her,  and  he  proceeds  to  tell  her  that  *  there  shall  be  done  A  deed  of  dreadful  note.' 
Still  provokingly  unapprehensive  of  his  meaning,  she  asks  him  anxiously,  <  What's 
to  be  done  ?*  But  he,  after  trying  the  ground  so  far,  finding  her  utterly  indisposed 
to  concur  in  his  present  scheme,  does  not  dare  to  communicate  it  to  her  in  plain 
terms,  lest  she  should  chide  the  fears  that  prompt  him  to  this  new  and  gratuitous 
enormity,  by  virtue  of  the  very  same  spirit  that  had  made  her  combat  those  which 
had  withheld  him  from  the  one  great  crime  which  she  had  deemed  necessary  to  his 
elevation.  It  is  only  through  a  misapprehension,  which  unjustly  lowers  the  gener- 
osity of  her  character  and  unduly  exalts  that  of  her  husband,  that  so  many  critics 
have  represented  this  passage  (*  Be  innocent  of  the  knowledge,'  &c.)  as  spoken  by 
Macbeth  out  of  a  magnanimous  desire  to  spare  his  wife  all  guilty  participation  in  an 
act  which  at  the  same  time,  they  tell  us,  he  believes  will  give  her  satisfaction.  It  is, .' 
in  fact,  but  a  new  and  signal  instance  of  his  moral  cowardice.  ...  It  is  most  im- 1 
portant,  in  order  to  judge  aright  of  Shakespeare's  metaphysical,  moral,  and  religious 
meaning  in  this  great  composition,  that  we  should  not  mistake  him  as  having  repre- 
sented that  spirits  of  darkness  are  here  permitted  absolutely  and  gratuitously  to 
seduce  his  hero  from  a  state  of  perfectly  innocent  intention.  It  is  plain  that  such  an 
error  at  the  outset  vitiates  and  debases  the  moral  to  be  drawn  from  the  whole  piece. 
MaclK:th  does  not  project  the  murder  of  Duncan  because  of  his  encounter  with  the 
weird  sisters ;  the  weird  sisters  encounter  him  because  he  has  projected  the  murder, — 
because  they  know  him  better  than  his  royal  master  does,  who  tells  us,  *  There  is  no 
art  to  find  the  mind's  construction  in  the  face.'  But  these  ministers  of  evil  are 
privileged  to  see  *  the  mind's  construction  *  where  human  eye  cannot  penetrate, — in 
the  min  J  itself.  They  repair  to  the  blasted  heath  because,  as  one  of  them  says  after- 
wards of  Macbeth,  *  something  wicked  this  way  comes.*     In  the  next  two  lines, — 

*  I  come,  Graymalkin ! — Paddock  calls,' — we  perceive  the  connection  of  these  beings 

37  2C 


/ 


434  APPENDIX. 

with  the  world  invisible  and  inaudible  to  mortal  senses.  It  is  only  through  thes^ 
mysterious  answers  of  theirs  that  we  know  anything  of  the  other  beings  whom  they 
name  thus  grotesquely,  sufficiently  indicating  spirits  of  deformity  akin  to  themselves, 
and  like  themselves  rejoicing  in  that  elemental  disturbance  into  which  they  mingle 
as  they  vanish  from  our  view.  .  .  . 

In  V,  iij  22-28,  we  have  mere  poetical  whining  over  his  own  most  merited  situa- 
tion. Yet  Hazlitt,  amongst  others,  talks  of  him  as  '  calling  back  all  our  sympathy ' 
by  this  reflection.  Sympathy  indeed !  for  the  exquisitely  refined  selfishness  of  this 
most  odious  personage !  This  passage  is  exactly  of  a  piece  with  that  in  which  he 
envies  the  fate  of  his  royal  victim^  and  seems  to  think  himself  hardly  used,  that 
Duncan,  after  all,  should  be  better  off  than  himselCr-  Such  exclamations,  from  such 
a  character,  are  but  an  additional  title  to  our  detestation;  the  man  who  sets  at 
naught  all  human  ties,  should  at  least  be  prepared  to  abide  in  quiet  the  inevitable 
consequences.     But  the  moral  cowardice  of  Macbeth  is  consummated.  .  . 

There  is  no  want  of  physical  courage  implied  in  Macbeth's  declining  the  combat 
with  Macduff.  He  may  well  believe  that  now,  more  than  ever,  it  is  time  to  <  beware 
Macduff.'  He  is  at  length  convinced  that  <  fate  and  metaphysical  aid '  are  against 
him ;  and,  consistent  to  the  last  in  his  hardened  and  whining  selfishness,  no  thought 
of  the  intense  blackness  of  his  own  perfidy  interferes  to  prevent  him  from  complain- 
ing of  falsehood  in  those  evil  beings  from  whose  very  nature  he  should  have 
expected  nothing  else.  There  is  no  cowardice,  we  say,  in  his  declining  the  combat 
under  such  a  conviction.  Neither  is  there  any  courage  in  his  renewing  it ;  for  there 
is  no  room  for  courage  in  opposing  evident  fate.  But  the  last  word  and  action  of 
Macbeth  are  an  expression  of  the  moral  cowardice  which  we  trace  so  conspicuously 
throughout  his  career ;  he  surrenders  his  life  that  he  may  not  be  *  baited  with  the 
rabble*s  curse.'  So  dies  Macbeth,  shrinking  from  deserved  opprobrium;  but  he 
dies,  as  he  has  lived,  remorseUss.  .  .  . 

Macbeth,  let  us  observe,  is  an  habitual  soliloquist;  there  was  no  need  of  any 
somnambulism  to  disclose  to  us  his  inmost  soul.  But  it  would  have  been  inconsist- 
ent with  Lady  Macbeth's  powers  and  habits  of  self-control  that  her  guilty  conscious- 
ness should  have  made  its  way  so  distinctly  through  her  lips  in  her  waking  moments. 
Her  sleep-walking  scene,  therefore,  becomes  a  matter  of  physiological  truth  no  less 
than  of  dramatic  necessity.  .  .  . 

The  compositions  in  question  [Lock's  musical  accompaniments]  are  not  only  the 
masterpiece  of  their  author,  but  one  of  the  most  vigorous  productions  of  native 
English  musical  genius.  Let  them  be  perfoiined  and  enjoyed  anywhere  and  every- 
where but  in  the  representation  of  the  greatest  tragedy  of  the  world's  great  drama- 
tist,—y<?r  luhich  representaiiofiy  let  every  auditor  well  observe,  their  author,  Lock, 
did  not  compose  them.  For  D'avenant's  abominable  travesty  were  they  written,  and 
with  that  they  ought  to  have  been  repudiated  from  the  stage.  .  .  . 

Although  the  dramatist  has  clearly  represented  his  hero  and  heroine  as  persons 
of  middle  age,  and  absorbed  in  an  ambitious  enterj^rise  which  little  admits  of  any 
of  the  lighter  expressions  of  conjugal  tenderness,  yet  the  words  which  drop  from 
Macbeth, — '  my  dearest  love,'  *  dearest  chuck,'  '  sweet  remembrancer,'  &c. — do  imply 
a  very  genuinely  feminine  attraction  on  the  part  of  his  wife.  As  for  mere  cofn- 
plexioHy  in  this  instance,  as  in  most  others,  Shakespeare,  perhaps  for  obvious  reasons 
of  theatrical  convenience,  appears  to  have  given  no  particular  indication ,  but  that 
he  conceived  his  Lady  Macbeth  as  decidedly  and  even  softly  feminine  in  person 
results  not  only  from  the  language  addressed  to  her  by  her  husband,  but  from  all 


HUNTER.  435 

that  we  know  of  those  principles  of  harmonious  contrast  which  Shakespeare  inva- 
riably follows  in  his  greatest  works.  In  the  present  instance  it  pleased  him  to 
reverse  the  usual  order  of  things  by  attributing  to  his  hero  what  is  commonly  re- 
garded as  the  feminine  irritability  of  fancy  and  infirmity  of  resolution.  To  render 
this  peculiarity  of  character  more  striking,  he  has  contrasted  it  with  the  most  un- 
doubted  physical  courage,  personal  strength  and  prowess ; — in  short,  he  has  com- 
bined in  Macbeth  an  eminently  masculine  person  with  a  spirit  in  other  respects 
eminently  feminine,  but  utterly  wanting  the  feminine  generosity  of  affection.  To 
this  character,  thus  contrasted  within  itself,  he  has  opposed  a  female  character  pre- 
senting a  contrast  exactly  the  reverse  of  the  former.  No  one  doubts  that  he  has 
shown  us  in  the  spirit  of  Lady  Macbeth  that  masculine  firmness  of  will  which  he 
has  made  wanting  in  her  husband.  The  strictest  analogy,  then,  would  lead  him  to 
complete  the  harmonizing  contrast  of  the  two  characters  by  enshrining  this  *  un- 
daunted mettle '  of  hers  in  a  frame  as  exquisitely  feminine  as  her  husband's  is  mag- 
nificently manly.  This  was  requisite,  also,  in  order  to  make  her  taunts  of  Macbeth's 
irresolution  operate  with  the  fullest  intensity.  Such  sentiments  from  the  lips  of 
what  is  called  a  masculine-looking  or  speaking  woman,  have  little  moral  energy 
compared  with  what  they  derive  from  the  ardent  utterance  of  a  delicately  feminine 
voice  and  nature.  Mrs  Siddons,  then,  we  believe,  judged  more  correctly  in  this 
matter  than  the  public. 


HUNTER. 


Hunter  {hWo  Jllustratiom  of  Shakespeare^  vol.  ii,  p.  15S-161,  1845).  This  play 
has  more  the  air  of  being  a  draft,  if  not  unfinished,  yet  requiring  to  be  retouched 
and  written  more  in  full  by  its  author,  than  any  other  of  his  greater  works.  Full  of 
incident  as  it  is,  it  is  still  one  of  the  shortest  of  the  plays.  Like  The  Tempest  in  this 
respect,  we  feel  that  it  would  be  better  if  it  were  longer.  We  want  more  of  the 
subdued  and  calm.  There  are  also  mure  passages  than  in  other  plays  which  seem  to 
be  carried  beyond  the  just  limits  which  part  the  true  sublime  from  the  inflated  or  the 
obscure, — passages  which  we  may  suppose  to  have  been  in  the  mind  of  Jonson  when 
he  said  of  the  soaring  genius  of  Shakespeare,  * sitfflaminandus  est*  What  might 
not  Macbeth  have  been  had  the  Poet  been  induced  to  sit  down  with  the  play,  as  it 
now  is,  before  him,  and  to  direct  upon  it  the  full  force  of  his  judgement  and  fine 
taste,  removing  here  and  there  a  too  luxuriant  expression,  and  giving  us  here  and 
there  a  breadth  of  verdure  on  which  the  mind  might  find  a  momentary  repose  and 
refresh  itself  amidst  the  multitude  of  exciting  incidents  which  come  in  too  rapid  a 
succession  upon  us !  .  .  •  .  There  can  hardly  be  a  doubt  that  there  are  very  serious 
corruptions  in  the  text  of  Macbeth^  for  which  the  author  cannot  be  held  responsible, 
except  indeed  we  take  the  ground  that  he  ought  not  to  have  scattered  such  precious 
leaves  to  the  wind. 

It  is  of  Shakespeare  himself  improving  Shakespeare  that  I  speak,  for  any  efforts 
by  any  other  hand  have  but  disfigured  and  debased  what  he  had  left  us.  Who  more 
worthy,  if  any,  to  make  the  attempt  than  Dryden  or  D*avenant  ?  both  great  poets, 
and  both  living  before  the  Genius  of  the  age  of  Shakespeare  and  Spenser  had  wholly 
lost  his  influence.  They  jointly  practised  on  The  Tempest^  but  when  we  look  at  the 
result  we  see  that  there  is  a  circle  in  which  none  should  walk  but  the  great  master 
spirit  himself.     The  same  may  be  said  of  D'avenant's  alterations  of  Macbeth,     The 


436  APPENDIX, 

chief  of  them  is  to  make  the  Witches  occupy  a  larger  space  in  the  play,  probably 
that  there  might  be  more  music.  The  effect  of  this  is,  that  the  just  balance  of  the 
several  parts  is  not  only  disturbed,  but  destroyed.  It  has  also  this  other  unfortunate 
effect,  that  the  mind  Is  too  much  drawn  off  from  the  results  to  the  previous  prtpa- 
rations. 

The  connection  of  the  story  with  the  family  which  had  become  seated  on  the 
English  throne,  the  lustre  which  it  cast  upon  the  family  when  looked  at  as  a  gene- 
alogist not  over-solicitous  about  his  authorities  would  contemplate  it,  and  the  striking 
character  of  the  incidents  themselves,  appear  to  have  kept  the  story  very  much  in 
the  eye  of  the  public  in  the  interval  between  the  first  performance  of  this  play  and 
the  close  of  the  theatres,  when  a  fatal  doom  was  impending  over  one  of  the  princes, 
who  in  innocence  and  mirth  had  been  greeted  by  the  wayward  sisters  at  the  gate  of 
Saint  John's.  It  is  alluded  to  in  ^urion^s  Anatomy  of  Melancholy ;  and  Hcy^Jirood 
tells  the  story  at  large,  but  with  some  remarkable  variations,  in  his  Hierarchy  of  the 
blessed  Angels,     In  particular  he  makes  the  Witches 

'  three  virgins  wond'rous  fair 
As  well  in  habit  as  in  features  rare,' 

and  he  represents  Banquo  as  dying  at  a  banquet,  not  killed  by  Macbeth.  Very  inar- 
tificially  he  calls  him  <  Banquo- Stuart.'  Macbeth  also  in  Hey  wood  is  slain  by 
Malcolm. 

Beside  the  main  subject  of  the  midnight  murder  of  a  King  sleeping  in  the  house 
of  one  of  his  nobles,  and  surrounded  by  his  guards,  the  death  and  appearance  of  the 
ghost  of  Banquo,  and  the  whole  machinery  and  prophecy  of  the  wayward  sisters, 
with  the  interior  view  of  a  castle  in  which  is  a  conscience-stricken  Monarch  reduced 
to  the  extremity  of  a  siege,  the  Poet  seems  to  have  intended  to  concentrate  in  this 
play  many  of  the  more  thrilling  incidents  of  physical  and  metaphysicxd  action.  The 
midnight  shriek  of  women ;  sleep,  with  its  stranger  accidents,  such  as  laughing,  talk- 
ing, walking,  as  produced  by  potions,  as  disturbed  by  dreams,  as  full  of  wicked 
thoughts;  the  hard  beating  of  the  heart;  the  parched  state  of  the  mouth  in  an  hour 
of  desperate  guilt;  the  rousing  of  the  hair  at  a  dismal  treatise;  physiognomy;  men 
of  manly  hearts  moved  to  tears;  the  wild  thoughts  which  haunt  the  mind  of  guilt, 
as  in  the  air-drawn  dagger,  and  the  fancy  that  sleep  was  slain  and  the  slayer  should 
know  its  comforts  no  more;  death  in  some  of  its  stranger  varieties, — the  soldier 
dying  of  wounds  not  bound  up,  the  spent  swimmer,  the  pilot  wrecked  on  his  way 
home^  the  horrible  mode  of  Macdonners  death,  the  massacre  of  a  mother  and  her 
children,  the  hired  assassins  peq^etrating  their  work  on  the  belated  travellere, — these 
are  but  a  portion  of  the  terrible  circumstances  attendant  on  the  main  events  of  this 
tragic  tale. 

He  goes  for  similar  circumstances  to  the  elements,  and  to  the  habits  of  animals 
about  which  superstitions  had  gathered, — the  Hilling  of  the  bat,  the  flight  of  the  crow 
to  the  rooky  wood,  the  fights  of  the  owl  and  the  falcon,  and  of  the  owl  and  the  wren, 
the  scream  of  the  owl,  the  chirping  of  the  cricket,  the  croak  of  the  prophetic  raven, 
and  bark  of  the  wolf,  the  horses  devouring  one  another,  the  pitchy  darkness  of  night, 
the  murky  darkness  of  a  lurid  day,  a  storm  rattling  in  the  battlements  of  an  ancient 
fortress, — we  have  all  this  before  we  have  passed  the  bounds  of  nature  and  entered 
the  regions  of  metaphysical  agency. 

There  we  have  the  spirits  which  tend  on  mortal  thoughts,  the  revelations  by 
magot-pies,  the  moving  of  stones,  the  speaking  of  trees,  and  lamentings  heard  in  the 
air,  and  almost  the  whole  of  the  mythology  of  the  wayward  sisters, — their  withered 


DE  QUINCE Y,— THE  KNOCKING  AT  THE  GATE.    437 

and  wild  attire,  their  intercourse  with  their  Queen,  their  congregating  in  the  hour  of 
storms  on  heaths  which  the  lightning  has  scathed,  the  strange  instruments  employed 
by  them,  the  mode  of  their  operations,  and  their  compelling  the  world  invisible  to 
disclose  the  secrets  of  futurity. 


*j:   .!.  DE  QUINCEY. 

De  Quincey  {^Miscellaneous  Essays ^  p.  9,  Boston,  1 851).  From  my  boyish  days  I 
had  always  felt  a  great  perplexity  on  one  point  in  Macbeth,  It  was  this :  the  knock- 
ing at  the  gate,  which  succeeds  to  the  murder  of  Duncan,  produced  to  my  feelings 
an  effect  for  which  I  never  could  account.  The  effect  was,  that  it  reflected  back  upon 
the  murder  a  peculiar  awfulncss  and  a  depth  of  solemnity;  yet,  however  obstinately 
I  endeavored  with  my  understanding  to  comprehend  this,  for  many  years  I  never 
could  see  why  it  should  produce  such  an  effect.  .  .  . 

At  length  I  solved  [the  problem]  to  my  own  satisfaction;  and  my  solution  is  this: 
Murder,  in  ordinary  cases,  where  the  sympathy  is  wholly  directed  to  the  case  of  the 
murdered  person,  is  an  incident  of  coarse  and  vulgar  horror ;  and  for  this  reason, 
that  it  flings  the  interest  exclusively  upon  the  natural  but  ignoble  instinct  by  which 
we  cleave  to  life;  an  instinct,  which,  as  being  indispensable  to  the  primal  law  of 
self-preservation,  is  the  same  in  kind  (though  different  in  degree,)  amongst  all  living 
creatures ;  this  instinct,  therefore,  because  it  annihilates  all  distinctions,  and  degrades 
the  greatest  of  men  to  the  level  of  the  *  poor  beetle  that  we  tread  on,*  exhibits  human 
nature  in  its  most  abject  and  humiliating  attitude.  Such  an  attitude  would  little  suit 
the  purposes  of  the  poet.  What  then  must  he  do  ?  He  must  throw  the  interest  on 
the  murderer.  Our  sympathy  must  be  with  him  ;  (of  course,  I  mean  a  sympathy  of 
comprehension,  a  sympathy  by  which  we  enter  into  his  feelings,  and  are  made  to 
understand  them, — not  a  sympathy  of  pity  or  approbation.)  In  the  murdered  person, 
all  strife  of  thought,  all  flux  and  reflux  of  passion  and  of  purpose,  are  crushed  by 
one  overwhelming  panic ;  the  fear  of  instant  death  smites  him  *  with  its  petrific  mace.* 
But  in  the  murderer,  such  a  murderer  as  a  poet  will  condescend  to,  there  must  be 
raging  some  great  storm  of  passion, — jealousy,  ambition,  vengeance,  hatred, — which 
will  create  a  hell  within  him;  and  into  this  hell  we  are  to  look. 

In  Macbeth,  for  the  sake  of  gratifying  his  own  enormous  and  teeming  faculty  of 
creation,  Shakespeare  has  introduced  two  murderers,  and,  as  usual  in  his  hands,  they 
are  remarkably  discriminated ;  but,  though  in  Macbeth  the  strife  of  mind  is  greater) 
than  in  his  wife,  the  tiger  spirit  not  so  awake,  and  his  feelings  caught  chiefly  by\ 
contagion  from  her, — ^j'et,  as  lx)th  were  finally  involved  in  the  guilt  of  murder,  the 
murderous  mind  of  necessity  is  finally  to  be  presumed  in  both.  This  was  to  be 
expressed ;  and  on  its  own  account,  as  well  as  to  make  it  a  more  proportionable 
antagonist  to  the  unoffending  nature  of  their  victim,  *  the  gracious  Duncan,'  and 
adequately  to  expound  the  '  deep  damnation  of  his  taking  off,'  this  was  to  be  ex- 
pressed with  peculiar  energy.  We  were  to  be  made  to  feel  that  the  human  nature, 
i.  e.,  the  divine  nature  of  love  and  mercy,  spread  through  the  hearts  of  all  creatures, 
and  seldom  utterly  withdrawn  from  man, — was  gone,  vanished,  extinct ;  and  that  the 
fiendish  nature  had  taken  its  place.  And,  as  this  effect  is  marvellously  accomplished 
m  the  dialogues  and  soliloquies  themselves,  so  it  is  finally  consummated  by  the  expe- 
dient under  consideration ;  and  it  is  to  this  that  I  now  solicit  the  reader's  attention. 
If  the  reader  has  ever  witnessed  a  wife,  daughter,  or  sister,  in  a  fainting  fit,  he  may 

37* 


438  APPENDIX, 

chance  to  have  obsen'ed  that  the  most  affecting  moment  in  such  a  spectacle  is  Mtf/ 
in  which  a  sigh  or  a  stirring  announces  the  recommencement  of  suspended  life.  Or, 
if  the  reader  has  ever  been  present  in  a  vast  metropolis  on  the  day  when  some  great 
national  idol  was  carried  in  funeral  pomp  to  his  grave,  and  chancing  to  walk  Dear 
the  course  through  which  it  passed,  has  felt  powerfully,  in  the  silence  and  desertion 
of  the  streets,  and  in  the  stagnation  of  ordinary  business,  the  deep  interest  which  at 
that  moment  was  possessing  the  heart  of  man, — if  all  at  once  he  should  hear  the 
death-like  stillness  broken  up  by  the  sound  of  wheels  rattling  away  from  the  scene, 
and  making  known  that  the  transitory  vision  was  dissolved,  he  will  be  aware  that  at 
no  moment  was  his  sense  of  the  complete  suspension  and  pause  in  ordinary  homan 
concerns  so  full  and  affecting  as  at  that  moment  when  the  suspension  ceases,  and 
the  goings-on  of  human  life  are  suddenly  resumed.  All  action  in  any  direction  is 
best  expounded,  measured  and  made  apprehensible,  by  reaction.  Now  apply  this  to 
the  case  of  Macbeth.  Here,  as  I  have  said,  the  retiring  of  the  human  heart,  and 
the  entrance  of  the  fiendish  heart,  was  to  be  expressed  and  made  sensible.  Another 
world  has  stept  in,  and  the  murderers  are  taken  out  of  the  region  of  human  things, 
human  purposes,  human  desires.  They  are  transfigured :  Lady  Macbeth  is  '  un> 
sexed ;'  Macbeth  has  forgot  that  he  was  bom  of  woman ;  both  are  conformed  to  the 
image  of  devils ;  and  the  world  of  devils  is  suddenly  revealed.  But  how  shall  this 
be  conveyed  and  made  palpable?  In  order  that  a  new  world  may  step  in,  this 
world  must  for  a  time  disappear.  The  murderers,  and  the  murder,  must  be  insu- 
lated,— cut  off  by  an  immeasurable  gulf  from  the  ordinary  tide  and  succession  of 
human  affairs, — locked  up  and  sequestered  in  some  deep  recess ;  we  must  be  made 
sensible  that  the  world  of  ordinary  life  is  suddenly  arrested, — laid  asleep, — tranced, — 
racked  into  a  dread  armistice ;  time  must  be  annihilated ;  relation  to  things  without 
abolished;  and  all  must  pass  self-withdrawn  into  a  deep  syncope  and  suspension 
of  earthly  passion.  Hence  it  is,  that  when  the  deed  is  done,  when  the  work 
of  darkness  is  perfect,  then  the  world  of  darkness  passes  away  like  a  pageantry  in 
the  clouds :  the  knocking  at  the  gate  is  heard ;  and  it  makes  known  audibly  that 
the  reaction  has  commenced ;  the  human  has  made  its  reflux  upon  the  fiendish ;  the 
pulses  of  life  are  beginning  to  beat  again  ;  and  the  re-establishment  of  the  goings-on 
of  the  world  in  which  we  live,  first  makes  us  profoundly  sensible  of  the  awful  paren- 
thesis that  had  suspended  them. 
(  O  mighty  poet !  Thy  works  are  not  as  those  of  other  men,  simply  and  merely 
great  works  of  art ;  but  are  also  like  the  phenomena  of  nature,  like  the  sun  and  the 
sea,  the  stars  and  the  flowers, — like  frost  and  snow,  rain  and  dew,  hail-storm  and 
thunder,  which  are  to  be  studied  with  entire  submission  of  our  own  faculties,  and  in 
the  perfect  faith  that  in  them  there  can  be  no  too-much  or  too-little,  nothing  useless 
or  inert, — but  that,  the  further  we  press  in  our  discoveries,  the  more  we  shall  see 
proofs  of  design  and  self-supporting  arrangement  where  the  careless  eye  had  seen 
nothing  but  accident ! 


ROFFE. 

A.  RoFFE  [An  Essay  upon  the  Ghost  Belief  of  Shakespeare^  p.  1 8.  [Privately  printed, 
London,  1851]).  In  an  essay  upon  Macbeth  may  be  found  the  following  passage  of 
criticism,  in  the  sceptical  school  (as  usual),  relative  to  the  Ghost  of  Banquo:  «If  we 
believe  in  the  reality  of  the  Ghost  as  a  shape  or  shadow  existent  without  the  mind 


ROFFE,  439 

of  Macbeth,  anil  nol  exclusively  within  it,  we  shall  have  difficulties  which  may  be  put 
under  two  heads — Why  did  the  Ghost  come?  Why  did  he  go,  on  Macbeth's  ap- 
proach, and  at  his  bidding?  ....  It  is  clear  from  the  scene,  that  Macbeth  drove  it 
away,  and  also  that  he  considered  it  as  much  an  illusion  as  his  wife  would  fain  have 
had  him,  when  she  whispered  about  the  air-drawn  dagger.'  This  piece  of  criticism 
is  cited  on  account  of  its  mode  of  testing  the  question  of  objective  reality.  With 
sceptics,  by  the  way,  very  curiously,  a  ghost  is  always  expected  to  be  thoroughly 
reasonable  in  every  one  of  its  comings  and  goings,  although  uniformly  men  are  not 
so.  What,  however,  for  the  present  wc  would  earnestly  request  of  the  sceptic  is,  to 
do  with  these  apparently  abnormal  things  as  he  would  with  any  branch  of  natural 
science ;  that  is,  enquire  as  to  facts.  He  would  then  find  that  the  instances  are  in- 
deed numerous  in  which  persons,  just  deceased,  appear  to  those  whom  they  have 
known  and  then  quickly  disappear.  These  passing  manifestations  also  occasionally 
take  place  when  the  person  appearing  is  not  either  dead  or  dying:  neither  does  it 
follow  necessarily  that  the  pen>on  seeing,  or,  as  the  sceptic  would  say,  fancying  that 
he  sees,  must  always  be  thinking  of  the  one  seen.  An  examination  into  the  general 
facts  leads  to  the  conclusion  that  thought  of  the  person  appeared  to,  on  the  part  of 
the  one  appearing,  is  the  cause,  according  to  certain  laws  of  the  internal  world,  of  the 
manifestations,  which  should  therefore,  it  is  conceived,  be  understood  as  having  an 
objective  reality.  This  theory,  and  its  facts,  must  be  considered  in  judging  of  Shake- 
speare's intentions.  Of  him  we  should  always  think  as  of  the  artist  and  student  of 
nature,  until  it  can  be  shown  that  he  ever  forgets  himself  in  those  characters. 

While  treating  upon  this  subject,  let  it  be  observed,  that  it  is  the  scepticism  as  to  the 
objective  reality  of  Banquo's  Ghost  which  has  originated  the  question  as  to  whether  he 
should  be  made  visible  to  the  spectators  in  the  theatre,  since,  as  the  sceptics  ol)serve, 
he  is  invisible  to  all  the  assembled  guests,  and  does  not  speak  at  all.  But  for  this  scep- 
ticism, it  would  never  have  been  doubted  that  the  Ghost  should  be  made  visible  to 
the  theatre,  although  he  is  invisible  to  Macbeth's  company,  and  although  no  words 
are  assigned  to  him.  This  doubt  existing,  illustrates  to  us  how  stage-management 
itself  is  affected  by  the  philosophy  which  may  prevail  upon  certain  subjects.  Upon 
the  Spiritualist  view,  Banquo's  Ghost,  and  the  Witches  themselves,  are  all  in  the  same 
category,  all  belonging  to  the  spiritual  world,  and  seen  by  the  spiritual  eye ;  and  the 
mere  fact  that  the  Ghost  does  not  speak,  is  felt  to  have  no  bearing  at  all  upon  the 
question  of  his  presentation  as  an  objective  reality. 

llic  Spiritualist,  when  contending  for  the  absolute  objectivity  of  Banquo's  Ghost, 
may  possibly  be  asked  whether  he  also  claims  a  like  reality  for  '  the  air-drawn  dagger.' 
To  this  he  would  reply,  that,  to  the  best  of  his  belief,  a  like  reality  was  not  to  be 
affirmed  of  that  dagger,  which  he  conceives  to  have  been  a  representation,  in  the 
spiritual  world,  of  a  dagger,  not  however  being  on  that  account  less  real  (if  by  un- 
reality we  are  to  understand  that  it  was,  in  some  incomprehensible  way,  generated 
in  the  material  brain),  but  only  differing  from  what  we  should  term  a  real  bonH  fide 
dagger,  as  a  painting  of  a  dagger  differs  from  a  real  one. 

That  the  spiritual  world  must  have  its  representations  as  well  as  its  realities,  is  a 
point  which  has  already  been  touched  upon,  and  this  dagger,  called  by  Lady  Macbeth 
<  the  air-drawn  dagger,'  we  suppose  to  be  one  of  those  representations.  Its  objective 
reality,  however,  still  remains  untouched ;  for,  once  grant  that  the  spiritual  world  is 
a  real  world, — ^nay,  the  most  real  world, — and  it  follows,  that  whatsoever  is  repre- 
sented in  it  has  its  basis  in  reality,  as  much  as  an  imitative  dagger  in  a  painting  has 
its  basis  in  the  colours  and  canvas,  which  are  also  realities. 


440  APPENDIX, 

The  belief  that  every  man  is  attended  by  spirits,  both  good  and  evil,  is  not  uncon- 
nected with  this  view  concerning  represented  objects  in  the  spiritual  world.  That  our 
thoughts  appear  to  be  injections  is  within  every  one's  experience,  and  the  giiardian 
angel  and  the  tempting  demon  are  constantly  admitted  in  poetical  language,  or  the 
language  of  the  feelings^  because  they  are  felt  to  be  truths.  If  then,  thoughts,  both 
good  and  evil,  are  what  they  appear  to  be,  injections, — which  injected  thoughts  w^e 
are  free  to  receive  or  to  reject, — they  must  be  from  a  source  capable  of  thought, 
namely,  from  the  inhabitants  of  the  spiritual  world.  From  that  same  source  would 
also  come  those  vivid  representations,  such  as  that  of  the  '  air-drawn  dagger,*  which 
are  felt  to  be  in  harmony  with  our  present  train  of  thoughts.  That  the  dagger  should 
have  this  kind  of  reality  is  quite  consistent  with  Macbeth's  reflections  upon  it.  As 
being  a  representation  to  the  internal  sight  only  (for  it  is  presumed  that  all  would 
agree  that  it  was  not  depicted  on  the  retina  of  the  external  eye),  he  cannot,  of  course, 
clutch  it  with  his  bodily  hands,  nor,  indeed,  even  with  his  spiritual  hands.  .  .  . 

The  fact  of  the  change  which  Macbeth  perceives,  as  to  the  dagger,  is,  we  conceive, 
quite  in  harmony  with  the  doctrine  here  advocated,  of  spiiitual  representations.    First 
of  all,  he  sees  simply  a  dagger,  marshalling  him  upon  his  way,  but  aftenvards  he 
sees  upon  its  blade  and  handle  spots  of  blood,  *  which  was  not  so  before.'     Hyp- 
notism, as  we  are  informed,  continually  displays  facts  similar  to  this  of  the  *  air-drawTi 
dagger,'  in  which  the  mind  having  been  artificially  fixed  upon  some  point,  becomes 
so  much  open  to  the  power  of  another  mind,  as  to  see  representations  of  the  injected 
or  suggested  thoughts.     You  can  cause  the  patient  to  see,  as  it  were,  a  lamb,  and  you 
can  change  this  lamb  at  your  will  into  a  wolf.     The  Spiritualist  does  not  desire  any 
one  to  think  that  th^se  are  real  lambs  or  wolves ;  he  is  content  to  have  it  admitted 
that  they  are  real  representations  of  them,  reflected  \y^xi  the  internal  or  spiritual  eye ^ 
and  he  is  not  aware  of  anything  which  should  oblige  us  to  believe  that  any  sight  is 
possible  without  some  sight-organization ^  such  as  is  the  eye,  and  such  as  is  not  the 
brain,  apart  from  the  eye. 
\        Mr  Fletcher  maintains  that  Banquo*s  Ghost  should  be  no  more  visible  on  the 
stage  than  the  air-drawn  dagger.     We  fully  believe  that  there  is  a  most  powerful 
stage-reason,  namely,  inteUigibilityy  for  making  the  Ghost  of  Banquo  visible  to  the 
theatre;    but  that  reason  does  not  apply  to  the  dagger, — because  what  is  spoken 
by  Macbeth  makes  intelligible  all  that  he  experiences  with  respect  to  that  dagger. 
Also,  when  we  go  on  to  perceive  that  the  spiritual  world  has,  and  must  have,  not 
only  its  realilieSy  but  its  representations  likewise, — of  which  last  the  dagger  is  appa- 
rently one, — we  have  an  additional  argument  still,  to  shew  that  the  reasoning  which 
may  belong  to  Banquo's  Ghost  would  not  necessarily  apply,  in  all  its  points,  to  this 
appearance  of  the  dagger.     It  should,  however,  be  noted,  that  the  Spiritualist  does 
not  venture  to  say,  that  under  no  circumstances  should  the  dagger  be  made  visible  to 
the  theatre;  he  believes  that,  supposing  Macbeth  superintended  and  performed  by 
persons  who  seriously  pondered  the  questions  of  the  spiritual  world,  and  the  play 
also  witnessed  by  a  theatre  of  such  persons,  the  idea  of  making  the  dagger  visible 
might  be,  at  least,  entertained ;  because  all  concerned  would  look  at  the  whole  affair 
from  a  grave  point  of  view,  and  would  not  be  on  the  search  for  the  ridiculous, — 
which  search  is,  indeed,  frequently,  nothing  else  but  an  effect  of  ignorance  or  thought- 
lessness. .  ,  . 

Dr  Mayo  {^Letters  upon  the  Truths  contained  in  Popular  Superstitions)  unites 
with  the  general  body  of  the  sceptics  in  pronouncing  the  clothing  of  spirits  to  be 
alone  enough  to  destroy  our  belief  in  any  objective  reality  for  the  wearers  of  the 


THE  BOSTON  COURIER.  44 1 

clothes.  .  .  .  Very  wonderful,  certainly,  to  the  Spiritualist  is  the  logic  of  Scepticism,— 
there  cannot  be  real  coats  and  waistcoats  in  the  spiritual  world !  that  is  enough  to 
settle  the  question  as  to  the  reality  of  the  wearers,  although  if  such  arguments  are  to 
be  persisted  in,  they  may  as  well  be  applied  at  once  to  the  bodily  form  itself  of  the 
spirit.  In  the  natural  world  a  man's  body  is  as  much  from  the  elements  of  nature 
as  his  coat  and  his  waistcoat  are.  The  truth  is,  that  to  deny  that  the  spiritual  world  is, 
to  the  spiritual  man,  objective  and  similar  to  the  natural  world,  is  tantamount  to  deny- 
ing it  altogether ;  for  who  can  really  believe  in  that  of  which  he  has  no  conception ; 
and  without  objectivity  there  is  no  conception,  either  in  the  worlds  of  matter  or  of 
mind.  Such  denials,  as  Dr  Mayo's,  are  an  assuming  to  be  wiser  than  are  the  great 
artists  who  represent  what  is  spiritual  by  forms ^  and  thereby  somewhat  minister  to  an 
earnest  want  of  the  mind,  which  want  is  in  itself  alone  enough  to  shew,  that  all 
scepticism  involves  nothing  less  than  a  separation  of  the  intellect  from  the  feelings, 
to  the  infinite  detriment  of  the  former.  Dr  Mayo  conceives  that  all  is  set  at  rest  by 
asking,  <  Whence  come  the  atrial  coats  and  waistcoats  ?'  but  suppose  the  question 
tested  by  an  inversion  of  itself,  and  that  we  should  ask.  Whence  come  what  Dr  Mayo 
conceives  to  be  the  real  coats  and  waistcoats  ?  It  must  then  be  replied,  that  all  na- 
ture and  its  substances  are  of  a  divine  and  spiritual  origin,  and  that  when  a  man 
makes  up  some  of  those  substances  into  the  forms  of  coats  and  waistcoats,  those 
forms  are  also  of  a  spiritual  origin,  because  the  man  contrives  them  by  a  spiritual  act. 


[For  the  Boston  Courier,  95  April,  1857.] 

MACBETH'S   FIRST   SOLILOQUY. 


V 


A  FEW  words  on  the  first  two  lines  of  it.  Strange  as  it  may  seem,  this  masterly 
production  of  the  foremost  man  in  the  dramatic  literature  of  the  world  used  to  be 
censured  for  •  perplexity  of  thought  and  expression.*  On  the  contrary,  one  of  the 
wonders  of  the  piece  is  the  firmness  with  which  a  simple  train  of  reflection  is  seized 
and  adhered  to.  The  *  thought '  is  nature  itself,  and  the  *  expression  *  eminently 
characteristic  of  Shakespeare.  The  opening  passage  has  indeed  been  sadly  abused. 
First,  by  faulty  readers  and  actors,  who  either  mouth  it, '  as  many  players  do,*  into 
indistinctness,  or  else  so  roll  it  over  the  smooth  waves  of  stage  prosody  that  it  is  im- 
possible to  tell  what  meaning  is  indicated.  The  second  error  is  that  which  may  be 
called  the  child's  way  of  reading,  who  understands  the  matter  thus : 

'  If  it  were  done,  when  'tis  done,  then  'twere  well 
It  were  done  qtUckly.' 

That  is, — if  I  am  really  to  do  it,  I  had  better  set  about  it  directly.  A  mode  of  in- 
terpretation which  overthrows  all  the  proprieties  of  the  English  language  to  arrive 
at  the  flattest  and  most  ridiculous  of  conclusions.  The  emphasis  that  now  probably 
obtains  among  intelligent  persons  is : 

'  If  it  were  Done  when  'tis  done,  then  'twere  well 
It  were  done  quickly.' 

This  method  has  the  merit  of  not  misunderstanding  the  original,  and  of  presenting 
to  the  mind  at  the  first  start  a  grand  conception. 


442  APPENDIX. 

The  *  if*  means,  if,  when  the  murder  is  committed,  there  were  the  end  of  it.  So 
Schiller,  in  his  admirable  translation  of  the  play,  clearly  discerns  it :  « Wftr*  es  auch 
abgethan^  wenn  es  gethan  ist,  Dann  wftr'  es  gut,  es  wUrde  rasch  gethan  !*  We  can- 
not but  perceive,  however,  that  the  German  translator,  though  he  apprehends 
the  idea  aright,  foregoes  the  advantage  of  using  precisely  the  same  word,  repeated 
immediately  in  an  altered  sense,  which  gives  such  a  power  to  the  English  text.  This 
is  one  of  Shakespeare's  bold  peculiarities,  and  a  g^eat  favorite  with  him,  as  the  care- 
ful reader  of  his  works  may  easily  see.  Two  instances,  at  least,  occur  in  this  very 
tragedy :  <  Cleanse  the  stuff 'd  bosom  of  that  perilous  stuff,'  and  <  Those  he  commands 
move  only  in  command/  A  single  further  specimen  of  it  may  be  permitted ;  and  it 
shall  be  one  that  seemed  to  elude  the  notice  of  the  accomplished  lady  whose  read- 
ings, the  past  winter,  gave  to  multitudes  of  persons  a  fresh  interest  and  delight  in 
Shakespeare's  genius.  It  is  where  the  poor,  humbled  Richard  II  says  to  Boling- 
broke :  [III,  iii,  206,] 

'  What  you  will  have,  I'll  ^ve,  and  willing  too : 
For  do  we  must  what  force  will  have  us  do/ 

But  even  yet  I  have  never  felt  perfectly  satisfied  with  any  rendering  of  those  two 
lines  in  Macbeth^  that  it  has  been  my  fortune  to  hear.  The  words  *  It  were  done 
quickly  *  sound  supernumerary  and  out  of  place,  as  they  are  generally  recited.  They 
hang  like  an  encumbrance.  They  clog  the  movement  of  the  verse.  Above  all,  they 
drag  in  a  new  and  inferior  thought,  after  the  great  argument  has  been  sufficiently 
pronounced.  Cut  them  off,  then,  from  their  connection  with  the  preceding  line, 
which  they  do  but  cumber,  and  see  what  new  force  you  will  give  to  the  whole 
soliloquy : 

'  If  it  were  Done  when  'tis  done,  then  'twere  well,' 

There  is  the  full  theme  and  true  key-note  of  the  piece.  It  is  complete  in  itself.  It 
prepares  the  way  for  all  that  follows.  It  announces  the  terrible  problem  with  which 
Macbeth's  unsteady  purpose  was  wrestling.  It  reminds  us  of  the  first  line  of  Ham- 
let's bewildered  self-confidence :  *  To  be,  or  not  to  be ;  that  is  the  question.*  The 
speaker  may  well  pause,  in  both  cases,  when  he  comes  to  that  point  of  the  awful  de- 
bate. And  there  the  rather,  because  by  such  a  coui*se  the  sentence  that  follows  will 
be  as  much  enriched  by  what  it  gains,  as  the  sentence  that  precedes  is  relieved  by 
what  it  surrenders.  The  clause,  that  seemed  almost  impertinent  where  it  stood,  be- 
comes a  reinforcement  in  its  new  relation : 

*  It  were  done  quickly,  if  the  assassination 
Could  trammel  up  the  consequence/  &c. 

Observe  how  much  clearer  and  more  compact  the  rest  of  the  period  becomes  by  be- 
ginning it  in  this  new  way. 

Macbeth  professes  to  defy  religion,  and  to  care  nothing  for  the  threatened  retribu- 
tions of  another  world ;  but  he  dreads  the  avenging  of  his  crimes  •  here :'  *  But  here, 
upon  this  bank  and  shoal  of  Time.'  This  description,  by  the  way,  of  the  guilty 
Thane,  thinking  only  of  the  earth,  with  its  shattering  fortunes,  and  of  the  present 
life  with  its  'petty  space'  and  its  'brief  candle,'  its  creeping  to-morrows  and  its  yes- 
terdays, that  do  nothing  but  light  fools  to  their  death,  is  wondrously  sustained  in 
every  part  of  the  play,  till  at  last  he  cries  out  in  despair: 

'I  'gin  to  grow  aweary  of  the  sun, 

And  wish  the  estate  o'  the  world  were  now  undone,* 

I 

In  conclusion,  it  must  be  frankly  confessed,  that  this  proposed  change  of  punctua- 


GERMAN  TRANSLA  TIONS,  443 

tion  is  justified  by  no  edition  of  Shakespeare  yet  published;  it  has  been  adopted  by 
no  performer  or  public  reader,  so  far  as  I  am  aware ;  if  it  has  been  ever  suggested  in 
print,  I  am  ignorant  of  it.  No  inventor  of  various  readings, — which  half  the  time 
are  various  follies, — has  pounced  upon  it.  Even  Mr  Collier,  with  his  huge  bunches 
of  *  margoram  notes,'  which  seem  in  general  to  be  culled  by  the  hands  of  idle  ap- 
prentices or  prosaic  players,  offers  no  conjecture  upon  the  matter.  But  neither  does 
it  belong  to  the  present  writer.  It  was  originated  by  no  ingenuity  of  his.  Whence 
he  derived  it  he  cannot  tell.  It  comes  to  his  memory  from  a  very  distant  and  un- 
traceable past.  It  has  his  thorough  conviction  of  its  justness.  Let  others  favor  it 
or  refuse  it,  as  they  see  best  reason  to  do  one  or  the  other.  X. 


GERMAN  TRANSLATIONS. 

However  pleasant  may  be  the  task  to  trace  the  gradual  growth  of  a  just  appre- 
ciation  of  Shakespeare  in  Germany  from  Lessing^s  solitary  voice  a  hundred  years 
ago  down  to  the  present  day,  when  a  Shakespeare  Society,  numbering  among  its 
active  members  some  of  the  most  eminent  names  in  the  present  literature  of  that 
country,  puts  forth  annually  a  volume  of  criticisms  on  the  dramas  of  him  whom,  as 
Heine  says,  'a  splendid  procession  of  German  literary  kings,  one  after  another 
throwing  their  votes  into  the  urn,  elected  Emperor  of  Literature,*  yet  such  a  review 
can  scarcely  with  propriety  come  within  the  scope  of  a  volume  like  the  present,  which 
is  dedicated  to  one  play  alone.  Of  the  duties  of  an  Editor  there  is  p>erhaps  none 
harder  than  that  which  obliges  him  to  keep  steadfastly  to  the  purpose  of  his  labours, 
and  resolutely  to  resist  all  temptations  to  wander  into  neighboring  quarters  with 
which  he  may  justly  be  expected  to  have  become  better  acquainted  than  many  of  his 
readers. 

In  order,  therefore,  to  keep  as  near  as  possible  to  the  subject  of  the  present  vol- 
ume, I  propose  to  confine  myself  to  a  brief  notice  only  of  some  of  the  more  promi- 
nent translations  of  Macbeth,  devoting  more  space  to  the  exposition  of  the  parts  in 
which  the  translators  have  diverged  from  the  original  than  to  those  passages  wherein 
they  have  been  faithful.  It  is  thus,  I  think,  that  we  can  best  estimate  Shakespeare's 
painful  struggle  for  life  in  a  nation  that  now  claims  him  for  its  own.  When  we 
see  Goethe  remodel  Romeo  and  Juliet  in  a  style  that  can  be  p>aralleled  only  by 
D'avenant's  version  of  Macbeth,  and  find  Schiller  putting  pious  morality  in  the 
mouth  of  a  coaree  Porter,  then  we  know  how  sore  was  the  battle  that  Schlegel 
fought,  and  how  valuable  are  the  labours  of  the  German  Shakespeare  students  of 
to-day,  since  their  labours  have,  af^er  all,  more  than  counterbalanced  those  dark  and 
imperfect  pages  of  their  literary  history.  * 

The  first  considerable  attempt  to  translate  Shakespeare  into  German  was  made  by 
Wi  eland  in  1763.  There  had  been  before  that  various  translations  of  separate 
plays,  but  Wieland*s  twenty-two  dramas  first  gave  Germany  an  idea  of  the  extent 

*  For  fun  inforthatlon  on  the  rise  and  progress  of  Shakespearian  criticism  in  Germany  see  GsNiB's 
GexckicMie  tUr  S^akesj^art^ken  Dramm  in  Detiisckland,  Leipsig,  1870;  and  the  Introduction  to 
Thimm's  Skakesfeareana  xfon  X564  hi*  1871.    London,  1873. 


444  APPENDIX, 

and  variety  of  the  original.  The  translator  followed  Warburton's  text,  and  did  not 
attempt  a  uniformly  metrical  rendering;  by  the  Witch-scenes  in  Macbeth  he  was 
completely  gravelled  (as  so  many  of  his  countrymen,  since  his  day,  have  been)  and 
confessed  himself  utterly  unable  to  reproduce  the  rhythm  of  the  original. 

Twelve  years  later  appeared  the  translation  in  prose  by  Eschenburg  of  all  the 
dramas.  His  Alacbeth  has  the  advantage,  in  common  with  all  prose  translations,  of 
having  nothing  sacrificed  to  the  rhythm,  and  was  the  basis  of  Schiller's  metrical 
translation  some  thirty  years  later.  In  the  incantation  of  the  Witches  in  the  first 
Scene  of  the  fourth  Act  he  mistook  *  baboon '  for  baby^  and  translated  it  *  Cool  it 
with  a  baby's  blood,'  *  Kiihlt's  mit  eines  Sftuglings  Blut' ;  and,  so  far  will  a  nat4ghiy 
deed  shine  in  this  good  world,  this  *  baby '  of  Eschenburg's  has  been  adopted  by 
Schiller  (of  course),  Benda,  Kaufmann,  and  Ortlepp. 

Just  before  Eschenburg,  however,  in  1773,  there  appeared  in  Vienna,  *  Macbeth,  a 
Tragedy,  in  five  Acts,*  by  Stephanie  der  Jungere.     There  is  nothing  on  the  title- 
page  to  indicate  that  it  is  a  translation  from  Shakespeare ;  it  is,  perhaps,  unfair  there- 
fore to  judge  of  it  from  that  point  of  view.     The  opening  scene  is  laid  in  *  Clyds- 
dale,'  between  *  Hamilton '  and  *  Prebles,'  seventeen  years  after  the  murder  by  Mac- 
beth of  *  his  uncle,  Duncan.'     Macbeth  and  Banquo  have  lost  themselves  in  a  deep 
forest,  in  the  blackest  of  nights  and  the  fiercest  of  thunderstorms.     From  their  con- 
versation we  learn  that  Banquo  helped  Macbeth  and  Lady  Macbeth  to  murder 
Duncan.     At  last  they  both  hear  a  hollow  cry.     *Macb,   Hold !   I  see  a  figure — . 
Banq,  You  are  right.  Sir !     I  also  see — .     Macb.  Holloa !  who  goes  there  ?     (The 
Ghost  of  Duncan  approaches.)     Banq.   Stand,  and  answer  or  else, —  (draws  his 
dagger).     Macb.  Who  art  thou? — I  command  thee:  disclose  whom  thou  art  (also 
draws  his  dagger).     Ghost.  Thy  uncle  whom  thou  murderedst !  (vanishes.)*    Mac- 
beth in  terror  appeals  to  his  companion  to  know  whether  or  not  it  were  Duncan. 
Banquo  with  true  Scotch  logic  replies  that  it  could  not  have  been  Duncan  because 
him  they  had  stabbed  and  buried  and  *  heaped  earth  upon  his  grave,  and  we  stamped 
it  down  hard  to  keep  him  safe. — It  must  have  been  his  ghost. — That  is  what  it  was ! 
— Even  this  tempest  could  not  blow  him  away.'     Macbeth  cannot  bring  himself  to 
believe  it,  and  again  appeals  to  Banquo, '  Didst  thou  hear  his  horrible  voice  ? — was  it 
English?     By  God !  it  was  so  plain  that  the  worst  Scotchman  could  have  under- 
stood it !'     As  the  plot  unfolds,  we  find  that  Macduff,  who  is  aided  by  the  English  in 
his  rebellion  against  Macbeth,  has  a  lovely  daughter,  Gonerill,  living  at  Dunsinnne 
in  closest  friendship  with  Lady  Macbeth,  and  with  whom  Fleance  is  deeply  in  love, 
and  whom  he  was  about  to  marry  when  the  feast  took  place  at  the  castle.     At  this 
feast  the  ghost  of  Banquo,  whom  Macbeth  had  murdered  with  his  own  hands,  ap- 
peared to  all  eyes  and  pointed  out  his  murderer.     Fleance  then  very  naturally  ran 
away.     Macbeth's  course  now  becomes  much  perplexed,  and  he  thinks  that  if  he 
had  an  heir  the  people  would  once  more  rally  around  him,  and  he  could  drive  off 
the  English  and  the  rebellious  Thanes  who  are  now  closely  hemming  him  in.      He 
therefore  makes  desperate  love  to  Gonerill,  and  offers  for  her  sake  to  remove  Lady 
Macbeth,  and  to  give  a  free  pardon  to  her  father  the  traitor  Macduff.     Before,  how- 
ever, he  can  carry  out  his  plans,  Macduff,  in  disguise,  gains  admission  to  the  castle 
and  carries  off  his  daughter.     Before  Macbeth  discovers  Gonerill's  fli«^ht,  and  while 
he  is  plotting  with  Lady  Macbeth  new  atrocities  in  order  to  exterminate  the  memory 
of  Duncan  from  the  minds  of  men  and  give  repose  to  himself,  the  statue  of  Duncan 
speaks  and  says,  *  That  thou  shalt  never  obtain  till  Duncan  be  avenged  !     Vengeance 
is  at  hand!     Prepare  for  judgement  and  tremble!' 


GERMAN  TRANSLATIONS.  445 

This  supernatural  horror  drives  Lady  Macbeth  insane,  and  while  re-enacting  the 
murder  of  Duncan  she  imagines  Macbeth  to  be  her  victim  and  stabs  him.  This 
restores  her  to  her  senses,  and  her  first  stab  not  proving  immediately  fatal,  at  her 
husband's  urgent  request  she  obligingly  gives  him  a  second,  which  permits  him  to 
expatiate  on  the  horrors  of  remorse  before  he  expires.  Macduff  and  the  English 
forces  rush  in.  Malcolm  is  crowned.  Duncan's  spirit  appears  and  blesses  Malcolm, 
with  the  words,  *  I  am  avenged  I  Govern.  Be  a  Friend,  a  Father,  a  Judge,  and  a 
King.*  They  all  then  depart,  and  none  too  soon,  for  the  castle  is  discovered  to  be 
in  flames,  and  Lady  Macbeth  is  seen  rushing  hither  and  thither,  until,  espying  Mac- 
beth's  corpse,  she  falls  upon  it,  with  the  words :  *  Consume  me,  flames !  But  also 
consume  my  soul  1*  The  roof  falls  in,  and  both  bodies  are  buried  in  flames  and 
smoke. 

In  1777,  F.  J.  Fischer*  adapted  for  the  stage  a  new  translation  of  Macbeth^  be- 
cause the  public  desired  to  see  this  *  tragedy  of  Shakespeare's  with  as  few  alterations 
as  Hamlet?     Duncan  does  not  appear  in  it. 

Seven  years  later  appeared  Burger's  translation,  in  prose  throughout  except  the 
scenes  with  the  Witches.  In  the  latter  the  author  of  Letiore  could  not  restrain  his 
imagination  while  dealing  with  so  congenial  a  subject,  and  accordingly  inserts  lines 
and  even  entire  scenes.  Here  and  there  he  takes  strange  liberties  with  his  text.  For 
instance,  *  Here  I  have  a  pilot's  thumb,  Wreck'd  as  homeward  he  did  come'  is  ren- 
dered *  Schau,  &  Bankrutirers  Daum,  Der  sich  selbst  erhing  am  Baum !'  Duncan 
does  not  appear  in  person;  all  his  commendations  of  Macbeth  are  conveyed  by  let- 
ter, wherein  there  is  no  intimation  of  his  selection  of  the  Prince  of  Cumberland  as 
his  heir.  This  important  point  in  the  tragedy  is  only  alluded  to  as  a  matter  of  hear- 
say by  Banquo  to  Ross.     The  first  Act  closes  with  the  following  Witch  scene ; 

IlaiJe.     Blitz  und  Donner,     Die  drei  Hexen  von  verschiedenen  Seiten, 

Alle,  Fischgen  lockt  der  Angelbissen ; 

Gold  und  Hoheit  das  Gewissen. 
Erste  H,     Herzchen,  Herzchen,  sahst  du  Den  ? 
Zweite  H,   Hab*  ihn  staubend  reiten  sehn. 

Hu !  Wir  trieben  Gert*  und  Spom 

Seinen  Hengst  durch  Kom  und  Dom ! 
Erste  H,     Herzchen,  Herzchen,  sahst  du  ihn  ? 
Dritte  H,   Sah  ihn  glupen,  sah  ihn  glQhn ; 

Hdrt'  ihn  murmeln ;  sah  ihn  fechten, 

Mit  der  Linken,  mit  der  Rechten. 
Alle,  WohlgekSdert,  Wohlberiickt ! 

VSgelchen  hat  angepickt. 

Fischgen  lockt  der  Angelbissen ; 

Gold  und  Hoheit  das  Gewissen. 
Erste  H,     Risch,  ihr  $chwestem,  hinteran ; 

Eh  er  sich  emQchtem  kann ! 
Zweite  H,  Wo  durchnachten  wir  alsdann  ? 
Erste  If,     Oben  auf  dem  Burg-Altan. 
Dritte  H,   Hurtig,  hurtig  angespannt, 

*  For  this  notice  of  FUcher  I  un  indebted  to  the  excellent  volume  of  GBMiK's  already  referred 
to.  £0. 

38 


446  APPENDIX. 

Und  das  Fuhrwerk  hergebannt ! 
AlU,  Dreimal  Hui  von  Land  und  Meer 
Bannt  uns  Ross  und  Wagen  her, 
Eine  Wolk'  ist  die  Karosse ; 
DonnerstUrme  sind  die  Rosse 
Hui  Hui  Hui !  heran,  heran ! 
Rollt  uns  auf  den  Burg-Altan.  {Rauschend  ab,) 

An  original  Witch-scene  closes  the  second  act  also ;  of  which  the  refrain  is : 

'  Lust  an  Unlust,  das  ist  Lust ! 
Krau't  und  Kitzelt  uns  die  Brust/ 

D'avenant,  I  think,  suggested  this  scene,  and  in  my  opinion,  B(irger*s  is  an  im* 
provement,  if  that  be  any  praise. 

In  the  Fifth  act  Lady  Macbeth's  death  is  thus  given : 

Watting  Woman  {rushing  in).  Come,  dear  Doctor,  for  God's  sake,  come!  The 
Queen — she's  off! 

Doctor,  What  ?    You  don't  mean  dead  ?     Impossible ! 

Waiting  Woman,  Yes !  Yes  1  Yes ! — What  a  pother  there  was  in  her  bed !  How 
she  cried,  *help!  help!'  half  strangled!  Then  there  were  smacks  and  cracks. 
When  I  ran  to  her  she  jerked  and  rattled  and  gasped  for  the  last  time.  God 
Almighty  knows  what  claws  those  were  that  turned  her  face  to  her  back,  and  lef^ 
such  blue  pinches. 

Doctor,  It  is  undoubtedly  a  stroke  of  apoplexy.  Madam.  The  lancet  will  re- 
lieve it. 

Waiting  Woman,  Oh,  in  vain !  in  vain !     Who  can  stay  God's  judgement  ? 

Doctor,  I  will  return  as  soon  as  I  have  announced  it  to  the  King.        [Exeunt, 

Schiller's  translation  was  published  in  1801.  He  adopted  as  his  text  Eschen- 
burg's  prose  translation.  From  this  source  we  certainly  have  a  right  to  expect  an 
excellent  and  faithful  rendering  of  the  original,  and  we  are  not  disappointed  except 
in  the  Witch-scenes,  in  the  Porter  scene,  and  in  the  omission  of  Lady  Macduff. 
There  is  no  play  of  Shakespeare's  so  compressed  in  its  action  as  Macbeth^  and  no 
shade  of  character  can  be  varied  without  marring  the  effect  of  the  whole  tragedy ; 
and  since  it  is  one  of  the  shortest,  still  less  can  there  be  any  omission  of  entire  scenes. 
The  omission  therefore  of  Lady  Macduff  and  her  son  is  fatal  to  Schiller's  translation 
as  a  work  of  art,  and  still  lower  does  it  fall  when  we  find  Witches  that  are  super- 
natural and  hellish  only  in  the  stage  directions.  Schiller  was  evidently  afraid  of  the 
fatalism  which  the  predictions  of  the  Witches  seem  to  imply — he  therefore  in  the 
opening  scene  actually  represents  these  twilight  hags,  to  whom  fair  is  foul  and  foul 
is  fair,  as  laying  down  axioms  of  free-agency : 

*  Third  W.  'Tis  ours,  in  human  hearts  to  sow  bad  seed. 
To  man  it  still  belongs  to  do  the  deed,' 

And  as  though  to  divest  these  hateful  things,  the  mere  projections  upon  the  outer 
world  of  all  that  is  vile  in  our  own  breasts,  of  every  attribute  of  badness,  Schiller 
makes  his  First  Witch  plaintively  ask  why  they  are  seeking  Macbeth's  ruin,  since  he 
is  brave f  and  just,  and  good ! 


GERMAN  TRANSLATIONS.  447 

Before  the  entrance  of  Macbeth  and  Banquo,  Schiller  introduces  the  Witches  as 
chanting  the  following  lines : 

Erster  Aufzug.    Vierter  AuFTRirr. 

Eine  Heide. 

DU  drei  Hexen  begegnen  einander, 

Erste  Hexe,  Schwester,  was  hast  du  geschafft  ?     Lass  h5ren ! 
Zweite  Hexe,  Schiffe  trieb  ich  um  auf  den  Meeren. 
Dritte  Hexe  {zur  ersUn).  Schwester!  wasdu? 
Erste  Hexe,  Einen  Fischer  fand  ich,  zerlumpt  und  arm, 

Der  flickte  singend  die  Netze 

Und  trieb  sein  Handwerk  ohne  Harm, 

Als  bes&ss'  er  k5stliche  Sch&tze, 

Und  den  Morgen  und  Abend,  nimmer  mdd, 

Begrilsst*  er  mit  seinem  lustigen  Lied. 

Mich  verdross  des  Bettlers  froher  Gesang, 

Ich  hatt*s  ihm  verschworen  schon  lang  und  lang — 

Und  als  er  wieder  zu  fischen  war, 

Da  Hess  einen  Schatz  ich  ihn  finden ; 

Im  Netze,  da  lag  es  blank  und  baar, 

Dass  fast  ihm  die  Augen  erblinden. 

£r  nahm  den  hfillischen  Feind  ins  Haus, 

Mit  seinem  Gesange,  da  war  es  aus. 
Die  zwei  andem  I/exen,  £r  nahm  den  hdllischen  Feind  ins  Haus, 

Mit  seinem  Gesftnge,  da  war  es  aus ! 
Erste  Hexe,  Und  lebte  wie  der  verlome  Sohn, 

Liess  allem  GelQsten  den  ZQgel, 

Und  der  falsche  Mammon,  er  floh  davon, 

Als  hJltt*  er  Gebeine  und  FlUgel. 

Er  vertraute,  der  Thor !  auf  Hexengold, 

Und  weiss  nicht,  dass  es  der  H5lle  zollt ! 
Die  xivei  andem  Hexen,  Er  vertraute,  der  Thor!  auf-Hexengold, 

Und  weiss  nicht,  dass  es  der  Hdlle  zollt ! 
Erste  Hexe,  Und  als  nun  der  bittere  Mangel  kam, 

Und  verschwanden  die  Schmeichelfreunde, 

Da  verliess  ihn  die  Gnade,  da  wich  die  Scham, 

Er  ergab  sich  dem  hdllischen  Feinde. 

Freiwillig  bot  er  ihm  Herz  und  Hand 

Und  zog  als  R&uber  durch  das  Land. 

Und  als  ich  heut  will  vorUber  gehn. 

Wo  der  Schatz  ihm  ins  Netz  gegangen. 

Da  sah  ich  ihn  heulend  am  Ufer  stehn, 

Mit  bleich  geh&rmten  Wangen, 

Und  h6rte,  wie  er  verzweifelnd  sprach : 

Falsche  Nixe,  du  hast  mich  betrogen ! 

Du  gabst  mir  das  Gold,  du  ziehst  mich  nach  1 

Und  stQrzt  sich  sich  hinab  in  die  Wogen« 


448  APPENDIX. 

DU  vwei  andem  Hexen,  Du  gabst  mir  das  Gold,  du  ziehst  mich  nach  I 

Und  stUrzt  sich  hinab  in  den  wogenden  Bach ! 
Erste  Hexe,  Trommeln  I  Trommeln !  Macbeth  kommt,  &c.,  &c. 

I  have  rendered  it  into  English  as  follows  : 

Act  I.     Scene  iv. 

A  heath.     Enter  the  three  Witches, 

First  W,  Sister,  what  host  thou  been  doing  ?    Let's  know ! 

Sec.  W.  Ships  on  the  sea  I  drove  to  and  fro. 

Third  W,  Sister,  what  thou  ? 

First  W,  I  found  a  fisherman  poor  and  forlorn, 

Who  sang  as  he  toiled  a  gay  measure, 
He  was  mending  his  nets  that  were  broken  and  torn 

As  though  he  were  lord  of  a  treasure. 
And  Morning  and  Evening,  always  gay. 
He  greeted  them  with  a  rollicking  lay. 
I  hated  the  beggar's  cheerful  song, 
And  I  plotted  against  him  all  day  long. — 
At  last  when  his  craft  again  he  plies, 

And  when  his  dripping  nets  unfold, 
I  let  appear  to  blind  his  eyes, 

A  bag  of  ruddy,  glittering  gold. 
He  has  carried  the  hellish  foe  away, — 
He'll  sing  no  more  for  many  a  day. 
Sec,  and  Third  W,  He  has  carried  the  hellish  foe  away,— 

He'll  sing  no  more  for  many  a  day. 
First  W,  He  lived  thenceforth  like  the  Prodigal  Son, 
Himself  in  no  lust  denying. 
And  let  false  mammon  away  from  him  run 

As  though  it  had  legs  or  were  flying. 

He  trusted,  the  fool,  in  the  Witch's  gold, 

And  never  knew  that  to  Hell  he  was  sold. 

Sec.  and  Third  W.  He  trusted,  the  fool,  in  the  Witch's  gold. 

And  never  knew  that  to  Hell  he  was  sold. 
First  W,  And  when  at  last  to  want  he  came 

And  fled  were  the  friends  of  an  hour, 
Then  deserted  by  honor,  abandoned  by  shame. 

He  yielded  himself  to  the  Devil's  power. 
Freely  surrendering  heart  and  hand, 
He  roamed  as  a  robber  over  the  land. 
And  when  to-day  I  chanced  to  pass  o'er 

The  spot  where  his  wealth  he  discovered, 
I  saw  him  raving  upon  the  shore, 

His  cheeks  they  were  pale  and  blubbered. 
I  heard  his  cry  of  despair  with  glee : 

*  Thou  'st  deceived  me,  thou  devil's  daughter : 
Thou  gavest  me  gold,  so  now  take  me !' 
And  down  he  plunged  in  the  water. 


GERMAN  TRANSLATIONS.  449 

Sec,  and  Third  W,  *  Thou  gavcst  me  gold,  so  now  take  me!* 

And  down  he  plunged  in  the  boiling  sea. 
J*irsf  IV.  A  drum,  a  drum,  Macbeth  doth  come,  &c,  &c 


Did  not  Burger's  refrain, 

'  Fischgen  loclct  der  Angelbissen 
Gold  und  Hoheit  das  Gcwissen/ 

supply  Schiller  with  a  hint  for  the  foregoing  ? 

The  severest  wrench,  however,  to  which  Schiller  subjected  this  tragedy  is  to  be 
found  in  the  Porter's  soliloquy,  where,  instead  of  a  coarse,  low,  sensual  hind,  we 
have  a  lovely,  lofty  character,  the  very  jingling  of  whose  keys  calls  to  prayer  like 
Sabbath  bells.  Is  it  not  surprising  that  the  great  German  poet  should  have  failed 
utterly  in  seeing  the  purpose  of  this  rough  jostling  with  the  outer  world  after  the 
secret  horrors  of  that  midnight  murder  ?  Can  such  things  be  and  overcome  us  like 
a  summer's  cloud  without  our  special  wonder  ?  Schiller's  scene  I  have  here  trans- 
lated : 

Act  II.     Scene  v. 
£ft/er  Porter,  wf'M  Jteys.     Afterwards  Macduff  and  Ross. 

Porter  (Singing).  The  gloomy  night  is  past  and  gone, 

The  lark  sings  clear ;  I  see  the  dawn. 

With  heaven  its  splendor  blending, 

Behold  the  sun  ascending : 

His  light,  it  shines  in  royal  halls. 

And  shines  alike  through  beggar's  walls, 

And  what  the  shades  of  night  concealed 

By  his  bright  ray  is  now  revealed.  [Knocking, 

Knock !  knock !  have  patience  there,  whoe'er  it  be. 
And  let  the  porter  end  his  morning  song. 
'Tis  right  God's  praise  should  usher  in  the  day ; 
No  duty  is  more  urgent  than  to  pray. — 

(Singing.)  Let  songs  of  praise  and  thanks  be  swelling 

To  God  who  watches  o'er  this  dwelling, 

And  with  his  hosts  of  heavenly  powers 

Protects  us  in  our  careless  hours. 

Full  many  an  eye  has  closed  this  night 

Never  again  to  see  the  light. 

Let  all  rejoice  who  now  can  raise. 

With  strength  renewed,  to  Heaven  their  gaze. 

[He  unbars  the  gate.    Enter  Macduff  and  Ross. 
Ross,  Well,  friend,  forsooth,  it  needs  must  be  you  keep 
A  mighty  organ  in  your  bosom  there 
To  wake  all  Scotland  with  such  trumpetings. 

Porter,  I  faith,  His  true,  my  lord,  for  I'm  the  man 
That  last  night  mounted  g  lard  around  all  Scotland. 
Ross,  How  so,  friend  pcrter? 
Porter,  Why,  you  see,  does  not 

2D 


450  APPENDIX. 

The  king's  eye  keep  o'er  all  men  watch  and  ward, 
And  all  night  long  the  porter  g^ard  the  king  ? 
And  therefore  I  am  he  who  watched  last  night 
Over  all  Scotland  for  you. 

Ross,  You  are  right. 

Macduff,  His  graciousness  and  mildness  guard  the  king; 
'Tis  he  protects  the  house,  not  the  house  him ; 
God's  holy  hosts  encamp  round  where  he  sleeps. 

Ross,  Say,  porter,  is  thy  master  stirring  yet  ? 
Our  knocking  has  awaked  him.     Lo !  he  comes,  &c.,  &c. 

The  original  runs  thus : — 

ZWEITER  AUFZUG.       FDNFTER  AUFTRITT. 

Pftrtner  tnit  Schlusseln,     Htmach  Macduff  und  RossB. 

Pfortner  [kommt  singend),  Verschwunden  ist  die  finstre  Nacht, 
Die  Lerche  schlftgt,  der  Tag  erwacht, 
Die  Sonne  kommt  mit  Prangen 
Am  Himmel  aufgegangen. 
Sie  scheint  in  K5nigs  Prunkgemach, 
Sic  scheinet  durch  des  Bettlers  Dach, 
Und  was  in  Nacht  verborgen  war, 
Das  macht  sie  kund  und  ofTenbar. 
{Stdrkeres  Klopfen.) 

Poch !  poch !  Geduld  da  draussen,  wer's  auch  ist ! 
Den  PfSrtner  lasst  sein  Morgenlied  vollenden. 
Ein  guter  Tag  filngt  an  mit  Gottes  Preis ; 
's  ist  kein  Geschaft  so  eilig,  als  das  Beten. 

(Singt  weiter.) 

Lob  sei  dem  Herrn  und  Dank  gebracht, 
Der  liber  diesem  Haus  gewacht, 
Mit  seinen  heil'gen  Schaaren 
Uns  gnldig  wollte  bewahren. 
Wohl  Mancher  schloss  die  Augen  schwer 
Und  offnet  sie  dem  Licht  nicht  mehr; 
Drum  freue  sich,  wer,  neu  belebt, 
Den  frischen  Blick  zur  Sonn'  erhebt ! 
(Er  schliesst  atif^  Macduff  und  Rosse  treten  auf.) 

Rossg.  Nun,  das  muss  wahr  sein,  Freund,  ihr  ftlhret  eine 
So  helle  Orgel  in  der  Brust,  dass  ihr  damit 
Ganz  Schottland  konntet  aus  dem  Schlaf  posaunen. 

Pfortner.  Das  kann  ich  auch,  Herr,  denn  ich  bin  der  Mann, 
Der  euch  die  Nacht  ganz  Schottland  hat  gehUtet. 

Rosse.  Wie  das,  Freund  PfSrtner? 

Pfortner.  Nun,  sagt  an  !     Wacht  nicht 

Des  KSnigs  Auge  ffir  sein  Volk,  und  ist's 


GERMAN  TRANSLATIONS.  45 1 

Der  Pfijrtner  nicht,  dcr  Nachts  Jen  K5nig  hatet  ? 
Und  also  bin  ich's,  seht  ihr,  der  heut  Nacht 
Gewacht  hat  Hir  ganz  Schottland. 

Rosse,  Ihr  habt  Recht. 

Macduff.  Den  K5nig  hQtet  seine  Gnad'  und  Milde. 
£r  bringt  dem  Hause  Schutz,  das  Haus  nicht  ihm ; 
Denn  Gottes  Schaaren  wachen,  wo  er  schl&f^. 

Rosse,  Sag*,  Pfdrtner!  ist  deiu  Herr  schon  bei  der  Hand? 
Sieh !  unser  Pochen  hat  ihn  aufgeweckt, 
Da  kommt  er. 

The  next  translation  after  Schiller's  appeared  in  1810,  by  Heinrich  Voss,  who  pub- 
lished several  of  the  plays  that  Schlegel  had  not  translated,  and  among  them  Macbeth, 
This  translation  some  twenty  years  later  he  revised  and  improved ;  it  is  undoubtedly 
more  literal  than  Schiller's  (nor  is  it  to  be  wondered  at,  since  Schiller  translated  at 
second  hand),  and  yet  despite  the  terrible  blemishes  in  the  latter,  its  rhythm  is  so 
much  more  flowing  than  Voss's,  and  its  language  so  much  choicer,  that  I  confess  I 
should  prefer  Schiller  to  Voss.  Take  for  example  the  first  few  lines  of  I,  vi,  and 
compare  the  two  translations.     Thus,  Schiller: 

Konig,  Dies  Schloss  hat  eine  angenehme  Lage. 
Leicht  und  erquicklich  athmet  sich  die  Luft, 
Und  ihre  Milde  schmeichelt  unsern  Sinnen. 

Banquo,  Und  dieser  Sommergast,  die  Mauerschwalbe, 
Die  gern  der  Kirchen  heil'ges  Dach  bewohnt, 
Beweist  durch  ihre  Liebe  zu  dem  Ort, 
Dass  hier  des  Himmels  Athem  lieblich  schmeckt. 
Ich  sehe  keine  Friesen,  sehe  keine 
Verzahnung,  kein  vorspringendes  Geb&lk, 
Wo  dieser  Vogel  nicht  sein  hangend  Bette 
Zur  Wiege  fUr  die  Jungen  angebaut, 
Und  immer  fand  ich  eine  mildre  Luft, 
Wo  dieses  fromme  Thier  zu  nisten  pflegt. 

Thus,  Voss,  in  1829 : 

Konig,  Des  Schlosses  Lag*  ist  angenehm ;  die  Luft, 
So  leicht  und  lieblich,  o  wie  schmeichelt  sie 
In  Ruh  die  Sinn'  uns ! 

Banquo,  Dieser  Sommergast, 

Die  Tempelfreundin  Schwalbe,  giebt  Beweis 
Mit  ihrer  traulichen  Ansiedelung, 
D.oss  hier  des  Himmels  Hauch  anmuthig  weht. 
Kein  Ueberdach,  kein  Fries,  kein  Pfeiler  hier, 
Kein  Winkelchen,  wo  dieser  Vogel  nicht 
Hangbette  sich  und  Kinderwieg'  erbaut : 
Wo  der  gem  heckt  und  hauset,  fand  ich  immer 
Die  reinste  Luft. 

It  will  be  seen  that  Voss  is,  word  for  word,  nearer  to  the  original,  and  yet  the  re- 
pose that  Sir  Joshua  Reynolds  so  finely  indicated  is  the  better  felt  in  Schiller's  trans- 


452  APPENDIX, 

lation.  The  very  hrst  line  of  Voss's  is  rough  and  jagged,  full  of  harsh  sibilants : 
^vhile  Schiller's  glides  as  wooiugly  as  a  summer  breeze.  The  conciseness  of  *  Tem 
pel  freundin '  is  dearly  purchased  by  Voss  when  Schiller  can  unfold  so  large  a  share 
of  the  meaning  of  *  Temple  haunting '  in  ♦  Die  gem  der  Kirchen  heil'ges  Dach 
bewohnt.'  On  the  other  hand,  Voss's  line,  *  Dass  hier  des  Himmels  Hauch  anmuthig 
wehty'  is  far  more  graceful  than  Schiller's  corresponding  translation.  But  how  far 
short  both  of  ihem  fall  of  the  original,  and  how  utterly  untranslateable  this  short 
passage,  taken  at  random,  is !  I  have,  with  no  little  care,  and  with  an  earnest  desire 
to  discover  beauties,  examined  the  rendering  of  these  few  lines  in  Eschenburg, 
Benda,  Kaufmann,  Tieck,  Spiker,  Lachmann,  Hilsenberg,  Korner,  Ortlepp, 
Raff,  Simrock,  Jacob,  Jencken,  Heinichen,  Max  Moltke,  Jordan,  Boden- 
STEDT,  and  Leo,  and  there  is  not  one  of  them  which  to  English  ears  reproduces  the 
original,  I  might  almost  add,  in  any  one  line.  The  happiest  translation  of  the  pas- 
sage is,  I  think,  that  of  DOROTHEA  TiECK  (in  ScHLEGEL  and  TlECK*s  New  Ausgabe^ 
Berlin,  1855),  which,  after  all,  I  strongly  suspect  to  be  Mommsen'S;  it  is  wholly 
different  from  the  edition  of  1833,  and  a  great  improvement  upon  it.  That  exquisite 
phrase,  redolent  with  balmy  languor :  *  Heaven's  breath  smells  wooingly  here,'  has 
been  caught  more  happily  by  Kaufmann  than  by  any  other  translator:  <dass  Him- 
melshauch  Hier  buhlend  weht.'  'Wooingly'  is  not  * lockend,' nor  * lieblich,*  nor 
*  erquicklich,'  nor  *  anmuthig,'  as  the  various  other  Editors  translate  it ;  but  *  buhlend,' 
which,  taken  in  its  best  sense,  (as  used  by  Goethe  in  *Es  war  ein  Konig  in  Tkule^) 
comes  nighest  in  meaning  and  in  musical  cadence;  the  paraphrase  of  Dorothea 
Tieck's  (Mommsen's?)  is  not  without  its  charm,  *  dass  hier  Des  Himmels  Athcm 
rum  Verweilen  ladet.'  Thus  critically  might  we  deal  with  every  sentence  of  this 
great  tragedy,  and  the  conclusion  to  which  we  should  come  would  be,  I  think,  that 
if  our  German  friends  and  fellow-students  can  be  roused  to  enthusiasm  for  Shake- 
speare when  studied  in  a  foreign  language,  to  what  high  pitch  would  their  reverence 
and  admiration  reach  could  they  but  for  a  single  moment  read  him  with  English 
eyes !  If  at  the  present  day  we  are  less  loud  than  they  in  our  exclamations  of  won- 
der and  delight  over  these  immortal  dramas,  it  may  be,  that  it  is  not  the  stolidity  of 
indifference,  but  the  silence  of  awe. 

In  1824  appeared  a  free  translation  of  Shakespeare  by  one  Meyer.  (No  more 
explicit  identification  of  the  translator  than  the  simple  name  appears  on  the  title-page, 
which  about  corresponds  to  '  Smith '  in  English,  and  perhaps  it  is  as  well  that  it 
should  be  left  thus  vague.)  This  translation  scarcely  deserves  to  be  recorded  here, 
except  that  the  sale  of  four  editions  in  one  year  bears  a  sad  testirhony  to  German 
popular  taste.  It  would  be  time  wasted  to  pick  out  all  the  droll  absurdities  of  this 
translation  ;  one  or  two  must  suffice. 

In  the  scene  where  Macduff  hears  of  the  slaughter  of  his  household,  Meyer  thus 
improves  on  Shakespeare's  phrase,  *  He  has  no  children ' : 

'Jvoss,  Let  quick  revenge  console  thee ! 
Macd.  Revenge  ? 

Hal   Ila!  ha!  ha!  has  he,  pray,  blonde-haired  laddies ?' 

In  the  closing  scene  between  Macbeth  and  Macduff,  Meyer  rises  with  the  occasion. 
Scarcely  has  Macbeth  slain  young  Siward  before  Macduff  is  heard  behind  the  scenes 
shouting  *  Halloh  !  halloa!  hi!  Macbeth!  Macbeth!   Macbeth! 
Macb,  Forsooth  one  weary  of  his  life,  and  blind, 
Who  finds  not  death  within  his  own  domain. 
And  therefore  seeks  out  me. — Hi !  here  is  Macbeth !' 


GERMAN  TRANSLATIONS,  453 

Macduff  hereupon  rushes  forward,  and  at  the  sight  of  Macbeth  instantly  falls  upon 
bis  knee  with  the  exclamation :  *  God  be  thanked  I  Ha !  have  I  got  thee  now  V 
After  fighting  awhile  Macduff  tells  Macbeth  the  manner  in  which  he  was  ushered 
into  the  world,  and  the  play  proceeds : 

Macb,  Accursed !  Accursed  be  Heaven,  Earth,  and  Hell  I 

Hold,  Macduff!  hold!         {Macduff  pauses  in  the  fight ;  Macbeth,  with  upraised 

sword  and  shield y  essays  to  speak  ;  in  vain  I — Rage  and  despair 

deny  him  zvords, — at  last  he  relieves  himself  by  a  horrible  yell 

of  laughter, — rushing  again  upon  Macduff : 

Now,  Macduff,  come  on  ! 

[^Aiming  a  pcnverful  blow  at  Macduff. 
To  Hell  before  me ! 

[Macduff  receives  the  blow  upon  his  shield,  and  the  blade 

of  Macbeth^ s  sword  flies  from  the  handle,    Macbeth  bellows , 

My  sword  too  ? — 

[Hurling  the  handle  at  Macduff^ s  head. 
Be  dash'd  in  pieces ! 

Macd.  {running  the  unarmed  Macbeth  through  the  body,)  Down  to  Satan  ! 

Macb.  (drawing  at  the  same  instant  a  concealed  dagger,  and  collecting  all  his  last 

strength,  flings  himself  upon  Macduff,  and  plunges  the  weapon  into  his  neck  with  the 

cry)  Come  along  with  me ! 

[Both,  each  in  the  other's  clutch,  fall,  struggling  in  death, 

to  the  ground.     At  this  moment  a  shout  of  triumph  is  heard 

from  the  walls,  and  clouds  of  smoke  and  flame  ascend  from 

vanquished  Dunsinane, 

Macb.  (with  his  face  turned  to  the  burning  castle,  and  with  upraised  fist,  shouts  :) 

Accursed!  accursed!  accursed!  (and dies.) 

Macd.  (disengaging  himself  from  Macbeth,  rises  with  difficulty  to  his  knees,  folds 

his  hands,  and  sinks  down  with  the  prayer)  God  be  praised  I     My  wife,  I  come ! 

Children !  (and  dies  upon  the  body  of  Macbeth.) 

Malcolm  and  Ross  enter,  and  afler  covering  the  corpses  with  their  country's  flag 
they  are  joined  by  Old  Siward  (who  is  wounded  unto  death),  preceded  by  his  regi- 
mental band  playing  *  God  Save  the  King !'  The  curtain  falls  as  he  places  the 
crown  on  Malcolm's  head,  with  the  words,  *  Praise  God,  and  be  the  opposite  of 
Macbeth  !* 

In  1825  appeared  a  translation  of  all  the  dramas  by  Benda;  this  contains  also  a 
good  selection  of  notes  from  the  Variorum  of  182 1. 

In  the  following  year  Spiker  translated  Macbeth,  but  it  possesses  no  more  merit 
than  that  by  Lachmann  a  few  years  later.  In  1830  Kaufmann  translated  a  number 
of  the  plays,  and  with  the  exception  of  Schiller's,  his  translation  of  Macbeth  is  by 
far  the  most  elegant  that  had  appeared.  In  literalness  it  is  much  superior  to 
Schiller's. 

In  1833  the  great  translation  by  Schlegel  and  TiECK  was  completed  by  the  pub- 
lication of  the  ninth  volume,  which  contained  Macbeth.  From  this  time  Shakespeare 
may  be  said  to  be  fairly  domiciled  among  the  Germans,  and  not  a  year  has  since  elapsed 
Aat  has  not  brought  some  contribution  from  them  to  Shakespearian  literature.  Many 
translations,  more  or  less  successful  in  the  rendering  of  passages  here  and  there,  have 
succeeded  Schlegel  and  Tieck's,  but  demanding  no  further  notice  now.  Their  titles 
will  be  found  in  the  list  of  books  w'.iich  follows  the  Preface  to  this  volume.     Within 


454  APPENDIX. 

the  last  five  years,  however,  three  remarkable  translations  have  appeared ;  one  undei 
the  editorship  of  Bodenstedt,  assisted  by  Freiligrath,  Gildemeister,  Heyse, 
KuRZ,  WiLBRANDT  and  others.  The  second  under  the  supervision  of  Dingelstedt, 
aided  by  Jordan,  Seeger,  Simrock,  Viehoff  and  GENfeE.  The  third  is  a  republi- 
cation of  Schlegel  and  Tieck's  translation,  thoroughly  revised  and  corrected  by  such 
competent  and  eminent  scholars  as  Elze,  Hertzberg  (the  translator  of  the  Canter- 
bury TaUs)^  Schmidt  (thetranslator  of  Za/ZaA  Rookh  and  Macaulay's  Lays  of  Ancient 
Rome)y  Leo,  Herwegh,  and  Delius;  it  is  issued  under  the  auspices  of  the  Ger- 
man Shakespeare-Society, guided  by  that  venerable  veteran  in  the  field  of  Shake- 
spearean scholarship,  Ulrici.  Shakespeare  is  indeed  surrounded  by  *  the  kingdom^s 
pearl.' 

Germany,  in  the  present  generation,  possesses  two  scholars  of  whom  it  may  well  be 
proud :  Ulrici  and  Delius.  The  English  edition  of  Shakespeare  by  the  latter, 
with  German  notes,  is  one  which  no  editor,  English  or  German,  can  afford  to  over- 
look ;  the  notes  are  clear,  concise  and  to  the  point,  and  although  that  point  is  often 
one  which  can  claim  the  attention  of  German  students  only,  yet  English  readers  may 
gain  much  instruction  from  noting  the  difficulties  that  occur  to  foreigners ;  a  hidden 
beauty  is  not  seldom  thus  revealed ;  such  at  least  is  my  experience.  More  than  thirty 
years  ago  Delius  published  an  edition  of  Macbeth  from  the  text  of  the  First  Folio, 
with  a  collation  of  the  other  three  Folios,  and  with  explanatory  notes.  It  is  not  my 
intention  to  bring  up  the  sins  of  his  youth  against  him,  but  it  is  interesting  to  note 
how  the  rashness  of  his  earlier  years  has  calmed  down  into  the  wiser  caution  of 
more  thorough  knowledge.  Several  of  his  bold  assertions  of  1841  are  not  alluded 
to  in  187 1 ;  one  of  his  readings,  however,  is  noteworthy.  In  I,  v,  69,  Delius  gives 
as  the  text  of  F, :  *  Give  solid  soueraigne  sway,  and  Masterdome,'  and  in  a  note 
expresses  wonder  that  *  F^,  Fj,  and  F^  should  have  changed  **  solid "  into  solely, 
which  in  connection  with  *'  sovereign "  is  pleonastic'  SiMROCK,  in  1842,  in  his 
reprint  of  F,,  also  gives  *  solid '  as  the  reading  of  that  text.  Now,  no  one,  I  think, 
who  has  ever  had  much  experience  in  collating  the  early  editions  of  Shakespeare, 
will  ever  assert  that  this  or  that  reading  is  not  to  be  found  in  them ;  all  that  can  be 
said  is  that  it  is  or  is  not  in  the  copies  that  he  has  examined.  Accordingly,  I  need 
only  say  that  the  word  is  not  solid  but  *  solely '  in  my  own  copy  of  F^,  in  the  Reprint 
of  1807,  in  Booth's  Reprint,  in  Staunton's  Photolithograph,  and  solid  is  not  noted  as 
a  varia  lectio  by  those  lynx-eyed  editors,  Clark  and  Wright.  It  therefore  remains 
as  a  curious  variation  of  the  text  of  that  particular  copy  only  of  the  F^  from  which 
the  German  Editors  printed. 

But  aliqiiando  dormitat^  &c.,  and  even  in  his  last  edition  Delius  falls  into  one  or 
two  errors,  almost  incomprehensible  in  view  of  his  excellent  knowledge  of  English. 
One  occurs  at  II,  ii,  25,  where  I  inserted  Delius's  note,  of  course  without  comment 
further  than  to  note  that  Bodenstedt  was  lodged  with  Delius,  in  their  own  accepta- 
tion of  the  phrase.  Another  occurs  at  IV,  i,  116,  where  Macbeth,  horror-stricken  at 
the  show  of  kings,  says,  'Start,  eyes  I'  which  the  German  Editor  in  1865  explains 
by  *  Macbeth  mag  nicht  mehr  hinblicken,  und  heisst  deshalt  seine  Augen  scheu 
abspringen  von  diesem  Schauspiel,'  *  Macbeth  can  jraze  no  longer,  and  therefore  bids 
his  eyes  start  away  from  this  sight.'  In  his  last  edition,  1S71,  Delius  ref>eats  this 
note  word  for  word,  but  adds  the  saving  clause  *  or  from  their  sockets.'  But  where 
there  is  so  much  to  praise,  the  indication  of  errors  is  an  ungrateful  task  that  finds 
its  justification  alone  in  the  warning  which  it  may  convey  to  other  and  less  learned 
German  scholars. 


GERMAN  TRANSLA  TIONS.  45  5 

I  cannot  omit  to  mention  an  edition  of  Macbeth  edited  with  German  explanatory 
notes  by  Ludwig  Herrig,  which  must,  I  should  think,  admirably  meet  the  wants 
of  students  of  English.  A  note  of  his,  that  perhaps  reads  the  strangest  to  English  ears, 
is  that  which  I  have  cited  at  I,  iii,  71,  where  Herrig  gravely  denies  that  *  By  Sinel's 
death '  is  an  adjuration,  an  interpretation  which  no  Englishman  would  ever  dream 
of  imputing  to  the  phrase  in  that  passage. 

In  conclusion,  to  give  an  idea  of  the  difficulty  with  which  the  Germans  have  to 
contend  in  translating  Shakespeare,  in  certain  passages,  I  subjoin  the  various  ver- 
sions of 

*  Double,  double  toil  and  trouble ; 

Fire  bum  and  cauldron  bubble.' 

ESCHENBERG  (1776);    SCHILLER  (1801)  ;   OrTLEPP  (1838)  : 

Rilstig,  rttstig !  nimmermQde! 
Feuer,  brenne ;  Kessel,  siede ! 

Wagner  (1779):* 

Holteri,  polteri,  ruck !  ruck !  ruck ! 
Feuerchen  brenn !     Kesselchen  schluck ! 

BOrger  (1784);  Voss  (1810);  Keller  and  Raff  (1845);  ^^^^  Moltke: 

Lodre,  brodle,  dass  sich*s  modle ! 
Lodre,  Lohe !  Kessel,  brodle  I 

E.  Schlegel,  BOrger,  and  A.  W.  Schlegel  (an  unfinished  translation,  accord- 
ing to  Genie) ;  also  Schlegel  and  Tieck  (1855) : 

Mischt,  ihr  alle !  mischt  am  Schwalle ! 
Feuer,  brenn',  und,  Kessel,  walle  I 

Voss  (in  his  notes,  p.  214,  ed.  1829) : 

Dopple  Mflh'  sci,  dopple,  dopple ! 
Lodre,  Glut ;  du  Kessel,  bopple ! 

or 
Doppelt  Milh'  und  Kraft  gekoppclt ! 
Gluten  flammt,  ihr  Brodel  boppelt ! 


Benda  (1825): 


Sfirer  (1826) : 


Doppelt !  doppelt  Werk  und  Milh,' 
Brenne  Feu'r  und  Kessel  sprtlh ! 


Doppelt,  doppelt  Fleiss  und  Milhe, 
Feuer  brenn'  und  Kessel  sprQhe ! 

Lachmann  (1829)1 

Giahe  Brahe,  lohn  der  Mtthe, 
Kessel  wall',  und  Feuer  sprQhe. 

Kaufmann  (1830) : 

Brudle,  bmdle,  dass  es  sprudle  I 
Feuer  brenne,  Kessel  brudle  l 


*  For  this  quotation  I  am  indebted  to  Simrock. 


456  APPENDIX. 

TlECK(i833): 

Feuer  spriihe,  Kessel  gldhe ! 

Spart  am  Werk  nicht  Fleiss  noch  Mtthe ! 

HiLSENBERG  (1836)  : 

Gliihe,  sprtthe,  Hexenbrtihe, 
Feuer  brenn'  und  Kessel  glUhe  I 

K6UNE&  (1836) : 

Dopplet,  dopplet  Plag'  und  M(ih, 
Aufwall,  Kessel ;  Feuer,  gltth ! 

Heinichen  (1841): 

Brodle,  schwitze  Gift  und  Galle, 
Feuer  brenne,  Kessel  walle ! 

SiMROCK  (1842): 

Brudle,  brudle,  dass  es  strudle, 
Feuer  brenne,  Kessel  sprudle. 

Jacob  (1848) : 

Doppelt,  doppelt  Fleiss  und  Mtthe ! 

Sprtlhe  Feuer,  Kessel  glUhe ! 

Jkncken  (1855) : 

Gltthe,  Kessel,  poltre,  polter, 
Briihe  Noth  und  Todes-Folter. 

SCHINK  (for  this  I  am  indebted  to  Gen6e) : 

Pub  !  pub  !     WUrrel'  Kessel,  pub ! 

Wiirrer  wUrreP  Kessel,  halt  nicht  Rast  noch  Rub  f 

BODENSTEDT  (1867)  : 

Nun  verdoppelt  Fleiss  und  Miihe, 
Kessel,  schSume ;  Feuer,  spriihe  ! 


Jordan  (1867) : 


Leo  (1871) : 


Mehret,  mehret,  Qual  und  Miihe, 
Flackre  Flamme,  brodle  Briihe. 

Feuer  toller,  Kessel  voller, 
Riistig,  riistig  I     Brodeln  soil  er. 


Is  it  not  noteworthy  that  for  one  most  common  word,  *  cauldron,'  the  German  lan- 
guage, with  all  its  wealth,  appears  to  have  no  equivalent  ? 

Well  and  truly  does  SoUTHEY  say  in  reference  to  Camoens,  as  quoted  by  Hallam  : 
*  In  every  language  there  is  a  magic  of  words  as  untranslatable  as  the  Sesame  in  the 
Arabian  tale, — you  may  retain  the  meaning,  but  if  the  words  be  changed  the  spell  is 
lost.  The  magic  has  its  effect  only  upon  those  to  whom  the  language  is  as  familiar 
as  their  mother-tongue,  hardly,  indeed,  upon  any  but  to  those  to  whom  it  is  really 
such.' 


\ 

I 

\ 


SCHLEGEL.  45  7 


SCHLEGEL.  yl 

A.  \V.  ScHLEGEL  {^Lectures  on  Art  and  Dramatic  Literature,  trans,  by  John 
Black,  London,  1815,  vol.  ii,  p.  197).  Who  could  exhaust  the  praise  of  this  sublime 
work  ?  Since  The  Furies  of  i^schylus,  nothing  so  grand  and  terrible  has  ever  been 
composed.  The  Witches  are  not,  it  is  true,  divine  Eumcnides,  and  are  not  intended 
to  be  so ;  they  are  ignoble  and  vulgar  instruments  of  hell.  A  German  poet  there- 
fore very  ill  understood  their  meaning  when  he  transformed  them  into  mongrel 
beings,  a  mixture  of  fates,  furies,  and  enchantresses,  and  clothed  them  with  tragical 
dignity.  Let  no  man  lay  hand  on  Shakespeare's  works  to  change  anything  essential 
in  them ;  he  will  be  sure  to  punish  himself.  .  .  . 

Shakespeare's  picture  of  the  witches  is  truly  magical :  in  the  short  scenes  where 
they  enter,  he  has  created  for  them  a  peculiar  language,  which,  although  composed 
of  the  usual  elements,  still  seems  to  be  a  collection  of  formulx  of  incantation.  The 
sound  of  the  words,  the  accumulation  of  rhymes,  and  the  rhythmus  of  the  verse, 
form,  as  it  were,  the  hollow  music  of  a  dreary  dance  of  witches.  These  repulsive 
things,  from  which  the  imagination  shrinks  back,  are  here  a  symbol  of  the  hostile 
powers  which  operate  in  nature,  and  the  mental  horror  outweighs  the  repugnance 
of  our  senses.  The  witches  discourse  with  one  another  like  women  of  the  very 
lowest  class,  for  this  was  the  class  to  which  witches  were  supposed  to  belong ;  when, 
however,  they  address  Macbeth,  their  tone  assumes  mofc  elevation ;  their  predictions, 
which  they  either  themselves  pronounce,  or  allow  their  apparitions  to  deliver,  have 
all  the  obscure  brevity,  the  majestic  solemnity,  by  which  oracles  have  in  all  times 
contrived  to  inspire  mortals  with  reverential  awe.  We  here  see  that  the  witches  are 
merely  instruments ;  they  are  governed  by  an  invisible  spirit,  or  the  ordering  of  such 
great  and  dreadful  events  would  be  above  their  sphere.  .  .  .  Shakespeare  wished 
to  exhibit  an  ambitious  but  noble  hero,  who  yields  to  a  deep-laid  hellish  temptation ; 
and  all  the  crimes  to  which  he  is  impelled  by  necessity,  to  secure  the  fruits  of  his 
first  crime,  cannot  altogether  obliterate  in  him  the  stamp  of  native  heroism.  He  has 
therefore  given  a  threefold  division  to  the  guilt  of  that  crime.  The  first  idea  comes 
from  that  being  whose  whole  activity  is  guided  by  a  lust  of  wickedness.  The  weird 
sisters  surprise  Macbeth  in  the  moment  of  intoxication  after  his  victory,  when  his 
love  of  glory  has  been  gratified ;  they  cheat  his  eyes  by  exhibiting  to  him  as  the 
work  of  fate  what  can  only  in  reality  be  accomplished  by  his  own  deed,  and  gain 
credence  for  their  words  by  the  immediate  fulfilment  of  the  first  prediction.  The 
opportunity  for  murdering  the  king  immediately  offers  itself;  the  wife  of  Macbeth 
conjures  him  not  to  let  it  slip ;  she  urges  him  on  with  a  fiery  eloquence  which  has 
all  those  sophisms  at  command  that  sen'c  to  throw  a  false  grandeur  over  crime. 
Little  more  than  the  mere  execution  falls  to  Macbeth;  he  is  driven  to  it,  as  it  were,« 
in  a  state  of  commotion  in  which  his  mind  is  bewildered.  Repentance  immediately 
follows,  nay,  even  precedes  the  deed,  and  the  stings  of  his  conscience  leave  him  no 
rest  either  night  or  day.  But  he  is  now  fairly  entangled  in  the  snares  of  hell ;  it  is 
truly  frightful  to  behold  that  Macbeth,  who  once  as  a  warrior  could  spurn  at  death, 
now  thjit  he  dreads  the  prospect  of  the  life  to  come,  clinging  with  growing  anxiety 
to  his  earthly  existence,  the  more  miserable  it  becomes,  and  pitilessly  removing  out 
of  his  way  whatever  to  his  dark  and  suspicious  mind  seems  to  threaten  danger. 
However  much  we  may  abhor  his  deeds,  we  cannot  altogether  refuse  to  sympathise 
with  the  state  of  his  mind;  we  lament  the  ruin  of  so  many  noble  qualities,  and  even  \ 

39 


•  » -.-. 


458  APPENDIX, 

in  his  last  defence  we  are  compelled  to  admire  in  him  the  struggle  of  a  brave  will 
^  with  a  cowardly  conscience.  We  might  believe  that  we  witness  in  this  tragedy  the 
over-ruling  destiny  of  the  ancients  entirely  according  to  their  ideas ;  the  whole  orig- 
inates in  a  supernatural  influence  to  which  the  subsequent  events  seem  inevitably 
linked.  We  even  find  here  the  same  ambiguous  oracles,  which,  by  their  literal  ful- 
filment, deceive  those  who  confide  in  them.  Yet  it  may  be  shown  that  the  p>oet  has 
displayed  more  enlightened  views  in  his  work.  He  wishes  to  show  that  the  conflict 
of  good  and  evil  in  this  world  can  only  take  place  by  the  permission  of  Providence, 
which  converts  the  curse  that  individual  mortals  draw  down  on  their  heads  into  a 
blessing  to  others.  An  accurate  scale  is  followed  in  the  retaliation.  .  .  .  Banqno 
atones  by  an  early  death  for  the  ambitious  curiosity,  which  prompted  him  to  inrish  to 
know  his  glorious  descendants,  as  he  thereby  rouses  Macbeth*s  jealousy ;  but  he  pre- 
served his  mind  pure  from  the  bubbles  of  the  witches.  In  the  progress  of  the 
action,  this  piece  is  altogether  the  reverse  of  HamUt ;  it  strides  forward  with  amaz- 
ing rapidity,  from  the  first  catastrophe  (for  Duncan's  murder  may  be  called  a  catas- 
trophe) to  the  last.  In  every  feature  we  see  a  vigorous  heroic  age  in  the  hardy 
North  which  steels  every  nerve.  The  precise  duration  of  the  action  cannot  be 
ascertained, — years  perhaps,  according  to  the  story;  but  we  know  that  to  the  imag- 
ination the  most  crowded  time  appears  always  the  shortest.  Here  we  can  hardly 
conceive  how  very  much  can  be  compressed  into  so  narrow  a  space;  not  merely 
external  events, — the  very  innermost  recesses  of  the  minds  of  the  persons  of  the 
drama  are  laid  open  to  us.  It  is  as  if  the  drags  were  taken  from  the  wheels  of  time, 
and  they  rolled  along  without  interruption  in  their  descent.  Nothing  can  equal  the 
power  of  this  picture  in  the  excitation  of  horror.  We  need  only  allude  to  the  cir- 
cumstances attending  the  murder  of  Duncan,  the  dagger  that  hovers  before  the  eyes 
of  Macbeth,  the  vision  of  Banquo  at  the  feast,  the  madness  of  Lady  Macbeth, — ^rhat 
can  we  possibly  say  on  the  subject  that  will  not  rather  weaken  the  impression  ?  Such 
scenes  stand  alone,  and  are  to  be  found  only  in  this  poet ;  otherwise  the  tragic  muse 
might  exchange  her  mask  for  the  head  of  Medusa. 


HORN. 

Franz  Horn  [Shakespeare' s  Schauspiele  erldutert^  vol.  i,  p.  49,  Leipzig,  1823), 
We  possess,  first  of  all,  in  this  drama  what  there  is  much  said  about  at  random,  a 
pure,  simple  tragedy  of  Destiny,  that  is,  as  concerns  Macbeth,  the  representation  of 
a  conflict  in  which  freedom,  not  yet  complete  in  itself,  suffers  defeat  and  becomes 
the  prey  of  necessity.  But  this  result  by  no  means  proves  the  absolute  supremacy 
of  destiny,  but  only  the  danger  in  a  certain  individual  of  an  ill-secured  and  imper- 
fect freedom  which,  as  such,  must  necessarily  yield  to  destiny.  The  Poet  shows 
throughout  that  Macbeth  was  not  forced  to  act  because  destiny  willed  it,  but  that  he 
fell  because  he  put  no  faith  in  his  freedom;  but  he  could  not  trust  that,  because  he 
understood  not  how  to  render  it  complete.  .  .  . 

In  the  life  of  every  human  being  of  any  force  of  character  there  are  everywhere 
abysses,  whence  ascends  a  bewildering  perfume  as  from  blooming  valleys ;  but  may 
he  who  yields  to  this  intoxication  lay  the  blame  upon  Destiny  ?  Everywhere  dazzling 
colors  and  alluring  voices  entice  us,  and  we  can  follow  them  or  not;  accordingly  the 
true  Poet  knows  no  one-sided  necessity,  but  only  a  freedom  that  has  become  a  bean- 
tiful  necessity,  or  a  necessity  exalted  into  freedom. 


HORN.  459 

The  necessity  which  Macbeth  obeys,  because  he  is  not  free,  exists  in  his  own  heart, 
whose  weakness  the  dark  powers  make  use  of  to  prepare  him  for  his  fall.  He  is  of 
sufficient  importance  to  stir  up  all  hell  against  him ;  a  prey,  such  as  he  is,  is  quite 
worth  the  trouble,  and  Hell  as  Hell  is  perfectly  right  when  it  busies  itself  so  eagerly 
about  him. 

The  power  of  Hell  it  is  that  meets  us  in  the  very  first  scene ;  a  circumstance  which 
deserves  special  notice,  since  elsewhere,  as  in  HamUty  The  Tempest^  yulitts  Casar, 
the  Poet,  with  the  carefulness  of  genius,  always  makes  preparation  for  his  supernatu- 
ral appearances  by  premonitory  hints,  broken  stories,  music,  &c.  But  not  so  here. 
The  spectator  is  at  once  the  witness  of  certain  representatives  of  the  hellish  Power, 
and  is,  from  the  very  beginning,  to  understand  that  they  are  the  levers  of  the  Drama, 
and  we  are  made  immediately  to  see  the  grim  conqueror,  Hell,  before  its  gradual 
advance  to  victory  is  represented.  .  .  . 

As  she  is  commonly  represented.  Lady  Macbeth  is  nothing  more  than  the  maxi- 
mum of  ambition,  a  person  who,  in  order  to  obtain  a  crown,  avails  herself  of  every 
means,  even  the  most  horrible.  Such  indeed  is  she,  and  much  more.  It  may  be  said, 
that  she  would  set  half  the  earth  on  fire  to  reach  the  throne  of  the  other  half.  But, — 
and  here  lies  the  depth  of  her  peculiar  character, — not  for  herself  alone ;  but  for  him, 
her  beloved  husband.  She  is  a  tigress  who  could  rend  all  who  oppose  her ;  but  h 
mate,  who,  in  comparison  with  her,  is  gentle,  and  disposed  somewhat  to  melancholy 
him  she  embraces  with  genuine  love.  In  relation  to  him  her  affection  is  great  and 
powerful,  and  bound  up  with  all  the  roots  and  veins  of  her  life,  and  consequently  it 
passes  into  weakness.  The  connection  of  this  fearful  pair  is  not  without  a  certain 
touching  passionateness,  and  it  is  through  this  that  the  Lady  first  lives  before  us,  as 
otherwise  she  would  be  almost  without  distinctive  features,  and  would  appear  only 
as  the  idea  of  the  most  monstrous  criminality.  Ambition  without  Ix)ve  is  cold, 
French-tragic,  and  incapable  of  awakening  deep  interest.  Here  Love  is  the  more 
moving  as  it  reigns  in  the  conjugal  relation;  and  truly,  to  the  atrocious  crimes 
perpetrated  by  this  pair,  there  was  need  of  such  a  counterpoise,  in  order  that  they 
may  appear  as  human  beings  suffering  wreck,  and  not  as  perfect  devils.  .  .  . 

So  long  as  there  appears  any  possibility  of  preventing  the  outbreak  of  his  heart, 
torn  to  bleeding.  Lady  Macbeth  tries  everything  in  the  way  of  warning  and  reproach 
that  female  sagacity  and  skill  can  in  such  a  case  suggest.  But  when  all  is  in  vain, 
and  the  guests  have  been  dismissed  with  the  commonplace  excuse  that  the  King  is 
suffering  from  his  old  malady,  and  the  miserable  guilty  pair  are  alone,  when  any 
less  loving  and  less  distinguished  woman's  nature  would  have  vented  itself  in  end- 
less reproaches  at  his  having  betrayed  her  and  made  her  wretched,  she  has  not  one 
word  of  upbraiding ;  but  calmly  recognizing  the  fact  that  what  is  done  is  done,  she 
only  gently  reminds  him,  that  he  Macks  the  season  of  all  natures,  sleep,*  and, 
although  knowing  that  he  will  not  be  able  to  sleep,  as  he  has  murdered  sleep,  he 
lets  himself  be  led  away  by  her  like  a  tired  child.  .  .  . 

The  King,  Duncan,  has  been  drawn  with  great  freedom  and  tenderness,  in  accord- 
ance with  his  fine  and  tender  nature.  He  is  an  amiable  person,  gentle  and  mild, 
and  with  a  lively  sense  of  Love  and  Nature.  But  he  is  no  captain,  and  indeed  no 
soldier.  Consequently  he  takes  no  part  in  the  battle  which  is  fought  for  his  crown. 
It  may  even  be  that  we  smile  at  him  a  little  when,  upon  the  wounded  soldier's 
reponing  to  him  how,  when  the  fight  was  half  through,  the  Norwegian  King  came 
to  the  help  of  the  rebels,  the  question  comes  from  his  lips :  '  Dismayed  not  this  our 
captains,  Macbeth  and  Banquo  ?'  which  receives  a  true  soldierlike  and  witty  answer. 


m,  N. 
jer     I 
—     I 


46o  APPENDIX. 

Our  light  laughter  the  Poet  has  not  begrudged  us,  for  it  does  not  impair  the  love 
with  which  he  inspires  us.  .  .  . 

Macbeth  lingers  over  this  thought,  and  says  that  against  this  horrible  deed  Duncan^s 
virtues  will  plead  like  angels,  trumpet-tongued ;  he  sees  Pity,  that,  like  a  naked,  new- 
born babe,  will  descend  from  Heaven,  and  while  it  draws  tears  from  every  good 
man's  eyes,  it  must  inflame  all  hearts  with  rage  against  the  murderer  of  the  unpro- 
tected. He  says  all  this  to  himself;  only  upon  one  point  is  he  silent — Duncan's 
age,  approaching  its  utmost  limit.  This  one  circumstance,  all  sufficient  to  tame 
the  lion  and  protect  the  lamb,  he  dares  not  name  even  to  himself,  nor  to  us,  for  only 
when  he  forgets  this  circumstance  can  the  deed  be  thought  possible,  which  otherwise 
could  hardly  be.  But  we  are  not  to  remain  in  uncertainty  about  Duncan's  age,  and 
Macbeth  himself,  in  a  fearfully  touching  picture,  has  to  bring  it  before  us.  He  has 
killed  the  grooms,  who,  suspecting  the  murderer,  were  to  be  silenced  for  ever.  Natu- 
rally, Macdufl^  asks  why  he  did  so;  and  then,  in  order  in  some  measure  to  excuse 
himself,  he  has  to  describe  the  scene  which  he  had  just  seen  and  caused.  So  he  says  : 
*  Here  lay  Duncan,  His  silver  skin  laced  with  his  golden  blood,'  &c.  Now  the  deed 
first  stands  complete  before  our  eyes ;  we  have  learned  all,  but  all  in  due  time.  We 
now  take  back  the  light  smile  that  arose  at  an  earlier  stage,  for  the  hoary  head  might 
well  have  kept  itself  aloof  from  the  fight  which  was  fought  for  him,  and  the  aged 
man  may  fittingly  ask,  as  he  did,  *  Dismayed  not  this  our  captains  ?'  .  .  . 

A  very  remarkable  passage  is  found  in  Act  I,  Scene  vi.  Duncan  has,  in  a  pleas- 
ant way,  invited  himself  to  sup  and  pass  the  night  in  Macbeth's  castle,  and  every 
reader  and  spectator  anticipates  that  he  is  here  delivered  to  his  murderers.  Duncan 
now  actually  appears  before  the  castle  in  company  with  his  faithful  Banquo,  and  the 
question  presses  upon  us:  How  would  a  hundred  and  again  a  hundred  of  our 
European  poets  have  made  Duncan  talk  ? 

Most  of  them  would  have  made  him  express  himself  thoughtfully,  gravely,  omi- 
nously, after  the  manner,  doubtless,  of  Henry  IV  of  France,  who  hears  *  in  his  pre- 
saging ear  the  footfall  of  the  murderer  seeking  him  through  the  streets  of  Paris ; 
feeling  the  spectral  knife  long  ere  Ravaillac  had  armed  himself  therewith.'  Or,  if 
the  King  were  represented  as  unaware  of  coming  evil,  some  friend,  at  least,  would 
warn  him,  and  upon  being  questioned  whence  came  his  forebodings,  would  sav  no 
more  than  that  a  mysterious  voice  within  prompted  him  thus  to  speak.  It  is  not  to 
be  denied,  that  in  many  tragedies  such  a  treatment  might  be  proper.  But  here  it 
would  disturb  the  effect ;  for  into  the  calm,  soft  spirit  of  Duncan,  and  into  the  bold 
heart  of  Banquo,  no  mystic  voices  can  penetrate. 

Other  poets  might  perhaps  have  hoped  to  produce  an  exhilarating  effect  by  sharp 
contrasts,  and  even  to  have  put  the  King  in  a  light-hearted,  merry  mood,  which 
would  have  been  sufficiently  out  of  place. 

Our  Poet,  in  his  wisdom  and  clear  insight  into  human  nature,  has  struck  the  right 
point,  and  is  thoroughly  human  and  humane  in  introducing  the  repose  which  he  here 
opens  before  us,  in  order  to  deepen  the  tragic  pathos  that  follows.  .  .  . 

It  has  been  remarked  al)ove  that  Macbeth,  before  the  deed,  suggests  to  himself, 
with  one  single  exception,  ever)  thing  that  duty  and  conscience  can  urge  against  his 
crime,  and  that  he  prophesies  to  himself,  in  a  manner,  the  whole  tortured  life  that 
awaits  him.  He  has  murdered  sleep,  and  is  now  himself  to  sleep  no  more.  Wlio 
does  not  know  the  fearful  legend  of  the  Wandering  Jew  who  cannot  die  ?  We  see 
here  something  similar :  a  hero,  inwardly  torn  by  the  cunning  powers  of  darkness 
and  by  himself,  scourged  by  the  Furies,  doomed  for  ever  to  wake,  and  yet  so  fully 


HORN,  46^ 

recognizing  the  infinite  blessing  of  sweet,  holy  sleep,  and  so  touchingly  painting  this 
blessed  gift  to  his  own  thirsting  soul.  But  the  ceaseless  watcher  falls  at  last  into  a 
feverish,  distracted  condition,  and,  rent  and  torn,  he  will  rend  and  tear,  and  believes 
that  he  is  fated  to  do  so.  He  believes  himself  thus  fated,  because  what  begins  in 
treason  and  blood,  can,  so  he  thinks,  only  in  treason  and  blood  be  continued. 

That  he  errs  in  this  belief  is  evident,  for  as  long  as  there  are  human  beings,  the 
traitor  will  believe  that  he  is  conspired  against,  and  the  murderer  that  he  is  sur- 
rounded by  murderers.  But  at  last  he  too  will  be  bent  upon  destroying ;  for  such 
sinners,  as  he  has  become  one  of,  feel  at  last  a  certain  horrible  tedium  which  can 
only  be  relieved  by  frequent  crime.  [See  Tacitus's  description  of  the  last  years  of 
Tiberius.]  .  .  . 

The  tragic  heroes  of  the  French  stage  manifest  almost  no  natural  pain,  but  express 
it  only  in  low,  fine  tones,  intimating  that  they  suffer  deeply,  and  would  express  their 
sufferings  in  an  ordinary  way  were  it  becoming  to  do  so  in  the  presence  of  princes 
and  princesses,  or  even  of  the  master  of  ceremonies.  The  modern  English  treat 
pain  mostly  in  a  metaphysical  style  of  speech.  Addison's  Cato  feels  no  pain  at  all ; 
his  breast  is  a  philosophical  anvil,  and  from  which,  alas  1  when  it  is  struck,  we  can- 
not even  see  any  beautiful  sparks  fly.  Many  of  the  Germans  are  too  broad,  and  on 
such  occasions  bring  out  a  paragraph  in  mediocre  iambics  from  their  philosophical 
sheets.  Others, — some  good  fellows  with  the  rest, — instantly  administer  religious 
consolation  (which  certainly  should  attend  upon  every  sorrow),  whereby  Nature  is 
deprived  of  her  rights,  as  she  shows  herself  in  at  least  two-thirds  of  mankind  who 
do  not  yet  always  live  in  the  pure  atmosphere  of  religion,  and  we  are  deprived  of 
the  sympathy  which  it  is  intended  we  should  feel.  But  how  altogether  different  is 
our  Poet !  We  mention  only,  in  passing,  the  great  word,  *  he  has  no  children,'  *  the 
sweet  little  ones,*  for  every  one  knows  these  grand  heart-sounds,  and  no  one  ven- 
tures to  imitate  them  in  other  places  where  they  do  not  belong.  But  I  may  quote 
as  a  true  warning  and  poetic  law,  addressed  to  all  poets,  the  following  passage : 

Mai,  Dispute  it  like  a  man. 

Macd,  I  shall  do  so ; 

But  I  must  sAio/eel  it  like  a  man. 
I  cannct  but  remember  such  things  were, 
And  were  most  precious  to  me,  &c. 

Put  these  lines  before  hundreds  of  French,  English  and  German  tragedies,  and 
they  sound  like  scathing  satire;  put  them  before  Egmont  or  William  Tell,  and  they 
give  us  a  hearty  delight.  Let  them  never  again,  ye  dear  poets,  sound  like  irony,  but 
give  us  human  beings  with  hearts  that  can  bleed  and  heal !  Then  you  will  never 
shrink  from  that  motto.  .  .  . 

But,  it  may  be  asked,  might  not  the  murder  of  Macduff 'js  wife  and  son  have  been 
omitted  ?  I  doubt  it,  for  it  was  not  permitted  to  the  Poet  to  forget,  what  is  almost 
superfluously  clear,  that  Necessity  must  have  its  issue  in  Act.  That  such  a  neces- 
sity existed,  arising  from  the  character  of  Macbeth,  and  from  the  moment  in  which 
he  decides  upon  the  extermination  of  the  hated  house,  needs  no  proof.  There 
is  another  question  of  more  importance :  could  not  this  new  monstrous  crime  at  least 
have  been  withdrawn  from  our  e)  es  ?  A  certain  tenderness  dictates  this  suggestion, 
and  Schiller  doubtless  was  of  this  opinion,  as  he  suppresses  the  whole  scene.  Were 
it  now  to  be  set  on  the  stage  according  to  the  prevailing  taste,  no  small  part  of  the 
public  would  be  outraged  to  such  a  degree  as  to  refuse  to  enter  further  into  the  hor- 
rors of  this  tragedy ;  as  one  is  bound  not  to  terrify,  but  only  gently  and  gradually  to 

39* 


462  APPENDIX, 

elevate  the  public  taste,  the  omission  for  the  present  may  well  be  excused.  The 
scene  itself  hovers  on  the  extremest  limit  of  tragedy,  and  is  almost  too  horrible  and 
harrowing.  .  .  . 

Our  Schiller  has  annihilated  the  whole  Shakespearian  porter,  from  top  to  toe,  and 
created  instead  one  entirely  new.  This  new  creation  is  quite  a  good  fellow  and 
pious ;  he  sings  a  morning  song  whose  noble  seriousness  makes  it  worthy  of  admis- 
sion into  the  best  hymn-books.  The  jest  also,  which  he  subsequently  throws  out  to 
the  lords  as  they  enter,  that  he  had  kept  watch  over  all  Scotland  through  the  night, 
is  respectable  and  loyal  like  the  whole  man.  But  how  comes  this  preacher  in  the 
wilderness  here  ?  Does  he  fit  the  whole  organism  of  the  piece  ?  Does  it  not  appear 
as  if  he  were  all  ready  to  afford  the  repose  which  the  whole  idea  of  the  scene  is  to 
give  ?  And  might  not  one  almost  say  that  it  was  a  little  officious  in  him  that  he 
wants  to  do  it  ?  It  is  possible  that  this  porter  may  be  thought  excellent,  provided 
Shakespeare  is  not  known ;  but  him  we  know,  and  how  he  knew  how  to  make  the 
Columbus  t^g  stand  up,  so  I  imagine  the  choice  will  not  be  found  difficult.  On  this 
account  I  declare  my  preference  for  Shakespeare's  porter  without  circumlocution, 
and  promise  in  advance  to  pay  the  greatest  attention  to  any  reasons  to  the  contrary 
that  may  be  produced. 

ULRICI. 

H.  Ulrici  {^Shakespeare's  Dramatic  Art,  trans,  by  A.  J.  W.  Morrison,  p.  206, 
London,  1846).  If  lofty  energy  of  will  and  action  be  the  particular  field  on  which 
the  force  of  the  tragic  principle  is  here  to  manifest  itself,  then  the  opening  scene, 
with  the  invention  of  the  witches,  is  particularly  well  calculated  to  place  at  once  in 
the  clearest  light  the  tragic  basis  on  which  the  whole  fable  is  to  be  raised.  In  con- 
sequence of  the  Fall,  and  man's  universal  sinfulness,  his  power  to  will  and  to  do  is 
by  nature  tainted ;  it  is  powerless  for  good,  and  strong  only  for  evil,  so  long  as  he 
refuses,  not  only  to  acknowledge  or  regret,  but  to  atone  for  his  otherwise  incurable 
corruption,  by  becoming  a  partaker  in  the  divine  grace.  But  not  only  is  the  human 
mind  thus  given  over  to  evil,  but,  inasmuch  as  man  is  the  organic  centre  and  culmi- 
nating point  of  the  whole  earthly  creation,  even  the  powers  of  nature,  between  which 
and  himself  an  intimate  and  essential  connection  subsists  of  action  and  reaction,  must 
of  necessity  proceed  with  him  in  the  same  course.  The  evil  which  has  struck  so 
deep  a  root  within  himself  meets  him  again  from  without,  in  the  powers  and  elements 
of  nature,  with  a  tempting  seduction  and  attraction.  And  again,  the  undeniable, 
though  dark  and  mysterious,  connection  between  this  life  and  the  next,  constrains  us 
to  ascribe  to  the  spiritual  world  a  certain  influence  on  the  spirits  yet  embodied  on  this 
earth.  In  this  truth  lies  the  profound  meaning  of  the  Christian  doctrine  of  devils 
and  evil  spirits.  In  its  other  and  brighter  aspect,  the  doctrine  of  God's  direct  assist- 
ance and  grace  enforces  a  belief  in  the  intrinsic  and  organic  unity  of  the  present 
and  the  future  world  more  forcibly  and  more  significantly  than  can  be  done  by  the 
popular  mishmash  into  which  philosophy  huddles  together  both  domains,  with  a  view, 
however,  of  establishing  a  heaven  on  earth  rather  than  an  earth  in  heaven. 

This  belief,  which,  from  the  commencement  of  legal  measures  for  the  punishment 
of  witchcraft  towards  the  end  of  the  fifteenth  centur}',  acquired,  no  doubt,  an  out- 
ward, practical  importance  directly  opposed  to  its  spiritual  nature,  was  employed  by 
Shakespeare,  not  merely  as  availal>le  for  his  poetical  purposes,  but  because  he  had  a 
clear  discernment  of,  and  a  vivid  faith  in,  its  profound  truth.     His  witches   are  a 


•^\ 


ULRICL  463 

hybrid  progeny ;  partly  rulers  of  nature,  and  belonging  to  the  nocturnal  half  of  this 
earthly  creation;  partly  human  spirits,  fallen  from  their  original  innocence,  and 
deeply  sunk  in  evil.  They  are  the  fearful  echo  which  the  natural  and  spiritual 
world  gives  back  to  the  evil  which  sounds  forth  from  within  the  human  breast  itself,  ^ 
eliciting  it,  helping  it  to  unfold  and  mature  itself  into  the  evil  purpose  and  the  wicked 
deed.  .  .  • 

,  Their  flattering  promises  do  but  represent  the  cunning  self-deception  which  nestles 
within  the  guilty  bosom,  and  by  glittering  hopes  and  self-deluding  sophistry,  keep 
up  the  courage  for  awhile,  until  at  last  the  cheat  is  stripped  of  its  disguise.  The 
real  criminal,  who,  as  his  actions  show,  has  no  will  but  for  his  own  interest,  is  by  hii 
very  nature  solitary.  Consequently,  Macbeth  and  his  wife  stand  alone  on  one  side, 
while  on  the  other  are  collected  together  against  him  the  nobles  of  his  kingdom,  the 
whole  State  and  people ;  and  all  the  human  race,  in  short.  Accordingly,  the  moral 
of  the  action  lies  partly  in  this  unavoidable  and  gradually  deepening  estrangement 
of  the  guilty  one  from  God  and  all  his  fellows,  and  partly  in  the  fearful  rapidity  with 
which  the  criminality  of  Macbeth  swells  and  grows  up  from  moment  to  moment  by 
an  intrinsic  necessity,  until  it  reaches  its  inevitable  goal  of  retribution  and  death. 
For  this  reason,  the  Scottish  nobles,  Macduff,  Lennox,  Ross,  Monteith,  and  Angus, 
with  Banquo  at  their  head,  are  necessary  figures  in  the  picture  before  us;  their  whole 
conduct — their  first  hesitation,  and  gradual  abandonment  of  Macbeth — is  sufficiently 
accounted  for  by  the  fundamental  idea  of  the  piece.  Malcolm  and  Donalbain,  on  -- 
the  other  hand,  are  indispensable  as  the  representatives  of  kingly  power,  and,  there 
fore,  of  the  objective  authority  of  justice  and  morality,  from  which  alone  the  ultimate 
restoration  of  law  and  order  is  to  be  looked  for.  On  this  account  it  was  necessary 
that  they  should  be  rescued  from  the  danger  which  threatened  them.     ITie  organic 

\«nity  and  intrinsic  necessity  with  which  the  whole  action  of  Macbeth  is  gradually 
evolved  out  of  the  given  characters  and  incidents,  constitute,  as  in  all  other  of 
Shakespeare's  dramas,  the  beauty  and  perfection  of  the  composition^  which  are 
reflected  again  with  twofold  splendor  in  the  conclusion. 

As  the  universal  sinfulness  of  man  is  made  from  the  very  beginning  the  ground- 
work of  the  whole  fable,  so,  in  the  conclusion,  the  power  of  sin  is  carried  to  its  ^ 
highest  pitch,  as  it  reveals  itself  objectively  in  the  utter  disorganization  and  helpless- 
ness of  the  whole  nation,  and  subjectively  in  Lady  Macbeth's  aberration  of  intellect,  ^ 
and  the  moral  blindness  of  her  husband,  equally  bordering  on  madness,  and  passing 
at  last  into  the  mental  weakness  of  despair.  The  terrible  and  horrible,  and  to  speak 
generally,  the  unpoetical,  element  which  is  involved  in  the  description  of  such  men- 
tal states  has  its  justification  in  the  present  case,  as  in  Lcar^  not  only  in  psychological^ 
reasons,  but  also  in  aesthetic  considerations,  and  in  the  fundamental  idea  of  the  piece. 
^Although  evil  is  thus  made  its  own  avenger,  still,  wherever  it  has  struck  so  deep  a 
root,  true  help  and  restoration  can  only  come  from  the  redeeming  grace  and  love  of 
God.  This  truth  is  embodied  in  the  person  of  the  pious,  holy,  and  divinely  gifted 
^  King  of  England,  who,  by  his  miraculous  touch,  diffuses  the  blessing  of  health,  and 
who  is  here  called  in  to  rescue  a  neighbouring  kingdom  from  tyranny  and  ruin.  As, 
however,  his  holy  arm  and  healing  hand  cannot  consistently  wield  the  sword  of 
vengeance,  he  is  represented  by  the  noble,  pious,  and  magnanimous  Siward,  whose 
son  falls  a  sacrifice  for  the  delivery  of  Scotland.  By  the  aid  of  England,  Malcolm 
and  Donalbain,  with  the   Scottish  nobles,  succeed  in  destroying  this  monster  of 

V  tyranny,  and  in  restoring  order  and  justice  to  their  oppressed  country. 

But  it  may  be  asked,  where,  in  all  the  course  of  this  tragic  developement,  are  we 


464  APPENDIX, 

4 

to  look  for  any  consolatory  and  elevating  counteraction  ?  Where  is  the  necessity  for 
the  immolation  of  so  many  innocent  victims,  who,  apparently  at  least,  have  no  share 
in  the  represented  guilt  ?  Our  answer  must  primarily  be  directed  to  the  second  ob- 
jection. The  tragic  poet  is  not  required  to  imitate  history  in  all  its  length  and 
breadth,  but  to  condense  its  general  features  within  a  particular  and  limited  space. 
Accordingly  he  must  be  at  liberty  to  introduce  as  many  subordinate  figures  as  may 
appear  necessary,  and  to  employ  them  as  such,  agreeably  to  the  purpose  he  had  in 
view  in  creating  them.  If,  therefore,  he  introduces  any  personages  merely  as  the 
passive  objects  of  the  actions  and  influences  of  others,  and  not  as  independent  agents, 
it  will  be  sufficient  if  he  exhibit  their  fortunes  and  sufferings  objectively  only,  while, 

(  from  their  subjective  basis  in  their  individual  characters  and  pursuits,  from  which 
alone  the  true  reason  of  their  destiny  is  to  be  discovered,  he  does  not  attempt  to 
account  for  it,  except  by  a  few  slight  hints  and  allusions/  Of  the  latter,  however, 
sufficient  is  furnished  us  by  Shakespeare  in  the  present  piece.     Thus  the  gracious 

^  iDuncan  does  not  seem  to  have  fallen  altogether  blameless.  This  we  are  led  to  infer 
from  the  numerous  revolts  against  his  authority,  which  Macbeth  successively  sup- 
pressed. Whether  they  were  the  result  of  an  arbitrary  rule,  or  injustice,  or  (as  the 
chronicles  assert  from  which  Shakespeare  drew  his  materials)  of  an  unkingly  weak- 
ness and  cowardice,  at  any  rate  he  is  open  to  the  reproach  of  unfitness  for  the  duties 
of  his  office  and  state.  His  sons,  again,  expose  themselves  to  the  suspicion  of  hav- 
ing slain  their  own  father  by  their  precipitate,  and,  though  prudent,  yet  most  unmanly 

V  and  cowardly  flight.  Banquo,  too,  evidently  broods  with  arrogant  complacency  on 
the  promised  honours  of  his  posterity,  and  so  brings  down  destruction  on  his  own 
head.  Lastly,  the  wife  and  children  of  Macduff"  suffer  for  the  selfishness  of  their 
natural  protector,  who,  forgetful  of  his  duty  as  a  husband  and  father,  has  left  them 
to  secure  his  own  personal  safety.  Accordingly,  he  is  punished  by  the  loss  of  all  his 
little  ones ;  while  the  fate  that  falls  upon  his  wife  is  not  altogether  unmerited  by  the 
asperity  with  which  she  rails  at  her  husband  for  his  desertion  of  her.  All,  in  short, 
both  nobles  and  commons,  are  guilty.  With  a  mean  and  selfish  cowardice,  and  a 
sinful  compliance,  they  overlook  the  lawful  successor  to  the  throne,  and  submit  to 
the  usurped  authority  of  Macbeth.  He  who  weakly  complies  with  evil,  involves 
himself  in  its  guilt  and  fearful  consequences.  In  such  matters  there  reigns  an 
intrinsic  necessity,  and  the  more  imperceptible  are  its  threads,  the  more  inextricably 
do  they  seize  upon  and  wind  themselves  round  us.  The  fundamental  idea  of  the 
piece  is  not  merely  illustrated  in  the  characters  and  fortunes  of  Macbeth  and  his 
wife,  but  all  the  subordinate  personages  and  incidents  reflect  it  in  a  great  variety  of 
light  and  shade.  Throughout  we  meet  the  same  sinful  wilfulness  and  conduct  under 
various  modifications,  and  equally  visited  with  sure  but  varying  degrees  of  retri- 
bution. 

An  answer  to  the  second  of  the  previous  objections  satisfies,  at  the  same  time,  the 
first  also,  in  some  measure.  The  tragical  is  not  confined  exclusively  to  the  fate  and 
fortunes  of  Macbeth,  which  form,  at  most,  but  one  portion  of  it.  The  death  of 
Macbeth  awakens  no  other  sensation  than  a  painful  conviction  of  the  frailty  of  all 
human  grandeur;  certainly  it  suggests,  in  the  immediate  instance,  no  soothing  or 
elevating  thought,  and  does  but  breathe  of  eternal  ruin  and  death.  Mediatelv, 
however,  it  does  give  rise  to  higher  and  calmer  feelings;  this  purifying  and  instruc- 
tive result,  however,  is  the  other  element  of  the  tragical  in  this  drama,  which,  at  the 
same  time,  is   closely  and   influentially  connected   with  the  first.     Something,    no 


ROTSCHER.  ,  465 

doubt,  is  lost  of  force  and  effect  by  this  division  of  the  tragic  interest ;  nevertheless, 
together  the  two  parts  make  it  complete. 

By  the  sufferings  which  the  crime  of  Macbeth  brings  upon  all  the  other  characters 
their  own  faults  and  weaknesses  are  atoned  for,  their  virtue  and  resolution  confirmed, 
and  their  minds  purified,  until  at  last  they  rise  great  and  powerful  and  throw  off  the__ 
unworthy  yoke  which  they  had  been  in  such  criminal  haste  to  accept.  In  the 
suicidal  consequences  of  evil,  as  here  exhibited,  we  may  read  the  comforting  and 
instructive  lesson  that  ultimately  victory  is  ever  with  the  good.  ^ 

In  conclusion,  we  must  make  a  remark  or  two  upon  the  character  of  Malcolm. 
Consistently  with  the  fundamental  idea  of  the  piece,(whose  design  was  to  exhibit 
the  vanity  and  inevitable  ruin  of  human  energy,  will,  and  action,  considered  as  the 
leading  spring  of  historical  development,  whenever  it  resigns  itself  entirely  to  earthly 
objects,  the  action  advances  with  extraordinary  rapidity  and  a  tearing  haste/    All  is 
action ;  act  presses  upon  act,  and  event  upon  event.     The  dark  and  supernatural 
powers,  whose  evil  influence  prevails  throughout,  would  seem  to  have  annulled  the 
usual  course  of  time.     But  it  is  only  the  irresistible  sequence  with  which  crime  fol- 
lows crime  that  can  proceed  with  such  rapidity.     Good  requires  time  and  patience;^ 
the  virtuous  deed  demands  for  its  fulfilment  much  of  forethought,  mature  prepara- 
tion and  calm  collectedness  of  mind.     As  if  designing  to  call  attention  to  this  im- 
portant truth,  our  poet  has  placed  Malcolm's  lingering  and  thoughtful  deliberation^- 
in  direct  contrast  to  the  stormy  and  impetuous  activity  of  Macbeth.     It  is  almost 
superfluous  to  remark  the  truthfulness  with  which  Shakespeare  has  here  sketched 
the  two  principal  forms  under  which  the  human  will  historically  develops  itself.-'^— 
Beautifully,  indeed,  has  he  painted  these  two  forms  of  historical  action.     On  the  one 
hand,  the  hasty  deed  following  close  upon  the  heels  of  resolve,  smd  like  a  hostile 
inroad,  securing  its  end  by  desolation  and  dismay ;  on  the  other,  a  deliberation  which 
anticipates  and  weighs  all  possible  contingencies,  from  which  the~Brealcmg  of  the 
boughs  in  Bimam  Wood  derives  a  motive  and  ceases  to  appear  purely  accidental, 
which  precedes  action  by  a  long  interval,  and  works  out  its  end,  however  tardily,  yet 
certainly.     Furthermore,  the  historical  significancy  of  the  tragedy  is  obvious  in  all 
this.     Even  externally  it  is  projected  distinctly  enough.    The  tyranny  of  Macbeth   ^ 
plunges  a  whole  people  in  misery,  and  his  crimes  have  set  two  great  nations  in  hos-^ 
tile  array  against  each  other.     There  could  not  be  a  more  pregnant  and  impressive 
illustration  of  the  solemn  truth  that^e  evil  influence  of  crime,  like  a  poisonous  ser- 
pent coiled  within  the  fairest  flowers,  spreads  over  the  whole  circle  of  human  exist- 
ence, not  only  working  the  doom  of  the  criminal  himself,  but  scattering  far  and  wide 
the  seeds  of  destruction ;  but  that  nevertheless  the  deadly  might  of  evil  is  overcome 
by  the  love  and  justice  of  God,  and  good  at  last  is  enthroned  as  the  conqueror  of 
the  world^  Lastly,  Macbeth  is  the  tragedy  in  which,  above  all  others,  Shakespeare  i 
has  distinctly  maintained  his  own  Christian  sentiments,  and  a  truly  Christian  view  y 
of  the  system  of  things.  ^ 


rGtscher. 

H.  T.  R5TSCHER  {Cyc/us  dramatischer  Charactere^  vol.  i,  p.  140,  Berlin,  1844). 
In  the  seventh  scene  of  the  first  act  the  task  is  set  before  the  actor  of  portraying  the 
progressive  steps  whereby,  in  Macbeth*s  mind,  the  moral  barriers  to  crime  are  thrown 
down.     Each  speech  of  Lady  Macbeth*s  is  to  a  certain  extent  a  successful  assault 

2E 


466  APPENDIX. 

against  the  stoutly-defended  intrenchments  of  moral  abhorrence.  The  memory  of 
Duncan's  graciousness,  the  appeal  to  the  deep  damnation  of  his  taking  off,  the  doubt 
of  success,  and  the  final  decision  to  do  the  deed  are  successively  unfolded  as  stages 
of  developement  in  Macbeth's  character,  and  are  clearly  defined  in  this  marvellous 
colloquy.  The  difficulty  in  acting  it  consists  mainly  in  portraying  a  gradual  victory 
over  moral  aversion,  and  in  making  manifest  by  the  expression  of  the  features  and  by 
the  voice  the  opposition  presented  at  each  step.  While  Lady  Macbeth  is  speaking, 
Macbeth*s  nature  works  restlessly  on,  and  his  face  and  gestures  must  therefore  so  far 
reflect  that  working  that  his  words  which  follow  must  constantly  reveal  as  a  natural 
consequence  all  the  previous  emotion.  .  .  . 

Lady  Macbeth's  strength  of  purpose  is  exactly  commensurate  with  her  ambition. 
Whatsoever,  in  her  hours  of  solitude,  her  imagination  has  fancied  to  be  the  end  and 
aim  of  life,  that  she  is  ready,  with  a  fearless,  unwavering  courage,  to  put  into  execu- 
tion. She  is  therefore  a  foe  to  all  half  measures  and  indecision,  because  the  price 
of  the  crime  is  thereby  paid  without  obtaining  inward  satisfaction  in  exchange  for  it. 
Lady  Macbeth's  rOle  in  the  composition  of  the  drama  is  not  only  to  clear  away  her 
husband's  conscientious  scruples,  and  to  save  him  from  vacillation,  but  also  to  afford 
a  lesson,  in  her  own  fate,  of  the  eternal  laws  of  the  moral  world.  It  is  by  no  means 
Lady  Macbeth  that  enkindles  Macbeth's  ambition  and  aspirations  to  the  crown; 
these  were  aroused  by  the  meeting  with  the  Witches,  who,  as  we  have  shown,  merely 
stirred  up  the  desires  which  had  been  for  a  long  time  previously  working  in  that 
heroic  breast.  ■'Macbeth  could  not  have  been  the  hero  of  the  tragedy  had  he  received 
his  first  inspiration  from  his  wife.  She  would  appear  as  a  mere  instrument  in  the 
progress  of  the  action,  and  afibrd  no  higher  poetic  interest  if  her  rOle  closed  in 
hurrying  Macbeth  on  to  the  deed.  .  .  . 

After  all,  this  is  the  secret  in  acting  Lady  Macbeth :  to  permit,  in  the  very  midst 
of  the  intoxication  of  ambition,  in  the  very  midst  of  an  iron  resolution,  those  accents 
of  nature  *  to  be  heard  which  betray  a  secret  horror  and  the  shattering  of  her  nerves. 
Even  when  she  seeks  to  restore  to  her  husband  his  lost  repose,  and  to  banish  terror 
from  his  breast,  by  assuming  an  air  of  gaiety,  when  she  strives  with  tender  care  to 
ward  off  from  him  the  ill  effects  of  his  horror  at  the  si^ht  of  Banquo's  ghost,  even 
then  we  can  detect  in  delicate  touches  the  struggle  of  the  powers  of  evil  with  her 
invincible  human  nature.  And  when  Lady  Macbeth  tells  her  husband  that  he  needs 
the  season  of  all  natures,  sleep,  her  face  and  her  voice  unconsciously  confess  that 
her  couch  also  sleep  does  not  visit.  The  phrases  with  which  she  endeavors  to 
restore  Macbeth's  self-command  ought  to  be  made  to  reveal,  by  the  expression  of 
voice  and  eye,  that  her  life  is  approaching  its  destruction. 

In  the  fifth  act  we  behold  the  distracted  woman.  We  are  made  aware  of  the 
changed  aspect  of  Lady  Macbeth's  ruined  life  by  the  secret  whispering  of  her 
attendants,  which  conceal  what  they  forebode.  Night-vigils  of  agony  have  furrowed 
her  face,  the  wonted  fire  of  her  eyes  has  burnt  out,  a  vacant  stare  betrays  the  mental 
desolation,  her  sleep-walking  shows  a  restless,  hunted  soul.  One  thought  alone  is 
breathed  from  this  torn  breast,  but  one  woe  swells  from  the  desolated  depths. 
Everything  is  here  stamped  with  the  character  of  a  completely  involuntary  a<>ent  • 
her  accents  betray  the  working  of  the  spirit  from  the  abyss  that  inexorably  demands 
its  victim.  Over  the  whole  scene  broods  that  mysterious  tone  which  intimates  infi- 
nitely more  than  it  directly  says,  and  in  which  there  hovers  the  grisly  memory  of  the 

*  '  H.id  he  not  resembled  my  fiiiher  as  he  slept,  I  had  done't.* 


ROTSCHER.  467 

inexpiable  past  and  the  deadness  of  soul  to  all  things  temporal.  The  horrors  of  the 
post,  like  ever-present  demons,  close  around  the  heart,  the  lamp  of  life  flickers  dim, 
and  tells  of  the  speedy  end  of  a  ruined  existence.  .  .  . 

{Die  Kunst der  dramatischftt  Darstellung,  p.  319.  Zweite  Auflage.  Berlin,  1864.) 
The  appearance  of  Banquo*s  ghost  is  the  direct  result  of  Macbeth*s  state  of  mind ; 
the  ghost  is  therefore  visible  only  to  him.  Everything  around  and  about  Macbeth 
is,  for  Macbeth,  as  though  it  were  not ;  the  instant  that  Banquo*s  ghost  rises,  he  is 
completely  transported  out  of  himself,  and  is  engrossed  solely  with  the  creatures  of 
his  brain.  The  difficult  task  which  the  actor  has  before  him,  when  portraying  the 
effect  upon  Macbeth  of  this  apparition,  is  to  make  us  feel  in  every  speech  addressed 
to  the  ghost  that  mental  horror  of  the  soul,  that  demoniacal  terror  of  the  mind,  which 
communicates  itself  with  irresistible  power  to  every  expression  of  the  face  and  voice. 
The  more  conscious  Macbeth  becomes  of  this  irresistible  power,  by  the  reappear- 
ance of  the  ghost,  the  more  horror-stricken  does  he  grow,  until  at  last  he  is  com- 
pletely unmanned.  The  gradually  increasing  effect  of  this  apparition  depends, 
therefore,  upon  the  power  the  actor  has  of  unfolding  the  mental  distraction,  the 
growing  discord,  in  the  soul  of  Macbeth.  Most  actors  endeavor  to  portray  this 
climax  by  mere  physical  strength  of  voice,  by  struggling  as  it  were  to  make  a  more 
powerful  impression  upon  the  ghost,  whereas  the  mental  horror  at  the  sight  of  an 
apparition  can  only  be  made  truly  manifest  by  the  intense  strength  of  a  terror  which 
one  strives  to  repress.  It  is  not  the  heightened  voice  of  passion,  growing  ever 
louder  and  louder,  but  the  trembling  tones  almost  sinking  to  a  whisper,  that  can  give 
us  the  true  picture  of  the  power  of  the  apparition  in  this  scene.  It  is  Macbeth's  vain 
struggle  to  command  himself,  and  the  dark  forces  constantly  bursting  forth  with  in- 
creasing power  from  his  internal  consciousness,  that  we  want  to  see  portrayed  by  the 
revelation  of  his  mental  exhaustion  and  by  his  control  over  face  and  voice,  weak- 
ened by  mental  terror.  Thus  alone  can  this  scene  be  produced  as  it  was  in  the 
mind  of  the  poet ;  assuredly  one  of  the  greatest  tasks  ever  set  before  an  actor. 

{Shakespeare  in  seinen  kochsten  Character- bilden  enthUUt  und  eniwickelt,  p.  62. 
Dresden,  1864.)  There  are  certain  inferences  to  be  drawn  in  regard  to  the  personal 
appearance  of  Lady  Macbeth.  She  enters  reading  her  husband's  letter  containing 
the  first  announcement  of  the  sayings  of  the  Weird  Sisters.  The  mighty  passion  of 
ambition  bursts  at  once  in  Lady  Macbeth's  imagination  into  full  flame  by  these  few 
lines;  she  appears  well-nigh  intoxicated  with  that  emotion;  her  whole  appear- 
ance ought  to  be  royal,  as  one  for  whose  powerful  features  and  majestic  bearing  the 
diadem  is  the  befltting  adornment.  Her  countenance  ought  to  display  noble  and 
energetic  outlines,  from  whose  every  feature  mean  desires  are  banished ;  it  should  pre- 
sage demoniac  forces,  with  never  a  trace  of  moral  ugliness  nor  aught  repellant.  The 
glittering  eye  betrays  the  restless,  busy  ardor  of  the  disposition,  while  the  finely- 
chiselled  lips,  and  the  nostrils,  must  eloquently  express  scorn  of  moral  opposition, 
and  a  (Jetermined  purpose  in  crime.  Her  queenly  bearing,  as  well  as  the  nobility 
of  all  her  movements,  proclaims  her  title  to  the  highest  earthly  greatness  and  power. 
Lady  Macbeth's  looks  ought  to  enchain,  and  yet,  withal,  chill  us,  for  such  features 
can  awaken  no  human  sympathy,  and  can  only  disclose  the  dominion  of  monstrous 
powers.  Lady  Macbeth,  therefore,  will  have  the  more  powerful  effect  the  more 
majesty  is  thrown  around  her  person,  because  she  will  be  thereby  at  once  removed 
to  a  region  in  which  all  ordinary  standards  are  dwarfed,  for  we  have  here  before  us 


468  APPENDIX. 

a  nature  in  which  dwells  a  spirit  made  up  of  savage  elements,  and  which 
its  own  peculiar  laws  in  its  projects  as  fearfully  as  in  its  ruin. 


HIECKE.  i 

R.  H.  HiECKE  (Shakespear^s  Macbeth  erl&utert  und  grwurdigi,  p.  31.  Meise- 
burg,  1846).  Must  all  the  reiterated  terms  of  endearment  in  this  scene  (III»  ii* 
45),  these  manifold  inflections  in  ever  softer  modulations,  be  deemed  meaningless 
in  such  a  poet  as  Shakespeare  ?  ...  Of  all  the  deeply  tragic  passages  of  this  drama» 
this  is  the  deepest.  Unintentionally  and  unconsciously  there  here  breathes  from 
Macbeth's  soul  an  echo  of  that  happier  time  when  the  mutual  esteem  of  a  heroic 
pair  was  accompanied  by  the  delicate  attentions  of  first  love.  And,  moreover,  this 
state  of  feeling  (at  such  a  moment  as  this)  is  psychologically  true,  when  we  see  them, 
as  in  the  days  of  first  love,  united  by  the  possession  of  a  common  secret.  But  what 
a  secret  is  it  that  they  now  share !  This  involuntary  return  to  the  tone  of  a  hap- 
pier time,  now,  alas!  vanished, — for  that  early  love  has  been  long  since  over* 
grown  in  each  by  ambition, — becomes'in  the  phrases  with  which  he  unfolds  his  pres- 
ent situation  to  his  wife  the  most  cutting  irony.  Just  as  ambition,  at  first  not  idien 
to  either  of  the  pair,  but  grown  at  last  by  degrees  the  complete  master  of  all  other 
sentiments,  has  caused  their  love  for  each  other  to  cool,  until  we  see  them  united 
solely  by  a  fiendish  alliance  in  pursuit  of  an  ambitious  end, — so  here  this  loyt,  gro'wun 
cold^  was  murdered  in  the  murder  of  the  King,  and  the  tenderness  in  this  scene  is 
naught  but  a  dirge,  rising  unconsciously  from  the  soul,  over  the  sentiments  of  an 
earlier  time.  .  .  . 

In  trying  to  find  out  the  dominant  idea  of  any  profoundly  poetical  work  it  seems 
to  me  that  we  are  especially  liable  to  adopt  this  or  that  one-sided  view,  just  in  pro- 
portion as  we  study  only  the  hero,  or  only  the  attendant  circumstances ;  the  former 
being  surely  less  doubtful  than  the  latter,  because  the  circumstances  represent  merely 
the  ground-work  for  the  action  of  the  characters ;  but  if  we  are  to  arrive  at  a  defi- 
nite decision  on  the  subject  of  the  dominant  idea,  we  must  consider  both  of  these 
elements  together,  which,  to  use  one  of  Goethe's  favorite  similes,  are  to  each  other 
like  warp  and  woof. 

If  then  we  regard  this  drama  only  from  the  first  point  of  view,  we  might  pro- 
nounce its  dominant  idea  to  be  the  representation  of  Ambition  as  a  demoniac  force 
seducing  a  noble  hero  to  evil,  depraving  him  more  and  more,  until  at  last  his 
own  destruction,  as  well  as  that  of  others  through  him,  is  felt  to  be  a  just  retribu- 
tion. From  the  second  point  of  view  we  might  regard  as  the  dominant  idea,  to 
glorify  a  well- ordered  kingdom,  by  depicting  the  fearful  consequences  of  treason. 
Neither  of  these  two  views  would  be  untrue,  but  neither  of  them  would  present 
the  whole  truth.  Any  one  who  should  adopt  the  first  could  be  immediately  dis- 
lodged from  his  one-sided  and  defective  position  by  the  question  whether  in 
the  present  case  the  power  of  ambition  manifests  and  asserts  itself  in  the  circle  of 
home,  or  of  friendship,  or  in  the  moral  sphere  of  a  lover  and  his  mistress,  or  in 
civil  society.  For  in  all  these  spheres  that  idea  can  be  treated  very  dramatically, 
and  yet  that  very  sphere  would  be  omitted  within  which  that  idea  is  here  un- 
folded, viz.,  the  sphere  of  state-craft.  And  thus  on  the  other  hand,  an  outrage 
against  royalty  as  against  the  Lord's  anointed  could  in  truth  spring  from  internal  fac- 
tions, from  hatred  and  dissension  in  the  royal  family,  from  an  uncivilized  familiarity 


^^ 


i 


GERVINUS.  46Q 

with  barbarous  customs  and  the  like,  all  of  which  are  cases  in  which  ambition 
either  plays  no  part  (as  when  some  love  intrigue  is  the  spring)  or  else  only  a 
very  subordinate  rdle.  All  these  situations  would  afford  material  for  a  drama, 
and  each  one  would  turn  out  utterly  different  from  Macbeth,  and  yet  in  any  case  the 
idea  that  has  been  adopted  must  be  carried  out  in  the  drama.  Verily,  between  the 
idea  and  its  developement  there  would  remain  the  same  difference  as  between  an  out' 
line  and  a  perfect  picture,  but  at  all  hazards  the  outline  must  be  exact.  Let  us,"^ 
therefore,  combine  both  of  these  two  views,  and  pronounce  the  idea,  which  is  the 
moving  power  of  our  drama,  to  be :  the  representation  of  ambition  as  a  fiendish  liv- 
ing force ,  driving  on  an  heroic  nature,  that  is  possessed  of  high  aims  and  capable  of 
the  grandest  deeds,  yet  restricted  by  external  barriers,  to  conspiracy  against  an 
anointed  potver,  an  established  hereditary  royalty,  on  fealty  to  which  depends  not  ofily 
the  prosperity  of  all,  but  the  true,  genuine  happiness  of  the  conspirator  himself; 
hereby  dooming  countless  numbers  to  destruction,  as  well  as  plunging  the  rebel  himself 
into  spiritual  and,  by  the  final  moral  concatenation,  into  physical  ruin,  but  by  these 
very  means  causing  the  power  which  has  been  outraged  to  emerge  all  the  more  glo- , 
riously, 

<■■' 

GERVINUS. 


G.  G.  Gervinus  {Shakespeare,  vol.  ii,  p.  146.  Third  edition,  Leipsig,  1862). 
However  criminal  and  violent  this  passion  [ambition]  may  appear  to  us  as  it  is 
developed  in  Macbeth,  it  is  not  in  him  from  the  outset ;  the  strongest  temptations 
were  needed  to  stir  it  into  a  headlong  activity.  .  .  . 

Banquo  is  contrasted  with  Macbeth  as  a  complemental  character,  and  this  con- 
trast is  revealed  immediately  in  the  effect  on  both  of  the  witches'  temptation.  Ban> 
quo  has  the  same  heroic  courage,  as  high  deserts  and  claims  as  Macbeth;  it  is 
natural  that  the  same  ambitious  thoughts  should  occur  to  the  one  as  to  the  other. 
But  in  Banquo  they  spring  up  in  a  freer  organization,  capable  of  the  sweetest  modesty, 
and  therefore  they  do  not  master  him  as  they  do  Macbeth.  When  the  latter  is  re- 
warded by  his  sovereign  with  favours,  distinction,  visits,  titles,  and  power,  Banquo 
has  to  be  grateful  for  an  embrace  only,  a  mere  folding  to  the  heart.  And  the  mode<%t 
man  replies :  *  There  if  I  grow,  the  harvest  is  your  own.*  Even  the  fruit  of  this 
small  recompense  he  accords  to  the  king.  And  then  in  an  Aside,  out  of  the  hearing 
of  his  more  favoured  rival,  he  extols  to  the  king  the  qualities  of  Macbeth,  while  the 
latter  envies  him  from  the  very  first  on  account  of  the  prophecy  in  favor  of  his 
descendants  as  well  as  of  himself.  .  .  . 

Lady  Macbeth  is  more  a  dependent  wife  than  an  independent,  masculine  woman, 

in  so  far  as  she  wishes  the  golden  round  rather  for  him  than  for  herself;   her 

whole  ambition  is  for  him  and  through  him ;  of  herself,  and  of  elevation  for  herself, 

she  never  speaks.  .  .  .  We  see  in  this  marriage  a  union  of  esteem,  ay,  of  deep 

reverence,  rather  than  of  affection.     The  poet  has  not  left  this  unexplained.     She 

has  had  children,  but  has  reared  none;   this  may  have  added  another  sting  to 

Macbeth's  jealousy  of  Banquo ;  but  the  most  natural  consequence  is  that  the  pair  are 

drawn  more  closely  together  and  are  more  intent  on  the  gratification  each  can  afford 

the  other.     Our  Romanticists  have  made  Lady  Macbeth  a  heroine  of  virtue,  and 

\    Goethe  rightly  derided  the  foolish  way  in  which  they  stamped  her  a  loving  spouse 

^   and  housewife.     Nevertheless,  the  relationship  of  the  two  to  each  other,  after  what 

40 


V-, 


470  APPENDIX. 

we  have  said,  may  be  supposed  to  be  cordial,  and,  from  the  style  of  their  intercourse, 
?ven  tender.  .  .  .  When  none  of  her  golden  expectations  are  fulfilled,  when,  instead 
of  successful  greatness,  the  ruin  of  the  land  and  of  her  husband  follows,  then  her 
powers  suddenly  collapse.  Trusting  in  him,  she  could  have  endured  forever  the 
conflicts  of  conscience,  of  nature,  and  of  a  harrowing  imagination,  but,  doubting  him, 
she  doubts  herself  also;  like  ivy,  she  had  twined  her  fresh  verdure  around  the 
branches  of  the  kingly  tree,  but  when  the  trunk  totters,  she  falls  to  the  ground ;  her 
iron  heart  dissolves  in  the  fire  of  this  affliction  and  of  this  false  expectation.  There 
have  been  regrets  expressed  that  the  transition  in  her  from  masculine  streng:tb  to 
feminine  weakness  has  not  been  more  fully  portrayed  by  the  poet.  It  was,  however, 
no  gradual  transition,  but  a  sudden  downfall.  .  .  . 

It  is  very  noteworthy  that  for  the  murder  of  Banquo  Macbeth  employs  the  very 
incitements  which  had  wrought  most  effectually  upon  himself:  he  appeals  to  the 
manhood  of  the  murderers.  ... 

As  far  as  regards  poetic  justice  in  the  fates  of  Duncan,  Banquo  and  Macdufif,  there 
lies  in  their  several  natures  a  contrast  to  Macbeth's.  .  .  .  King  Duncan  is  cha- 
racterised in  history  as  a  man  of  greater  weakness  than  became  a  king ;  rebellions 
were  frequent  in  his  reign ;  he  was  no  warrior  to  suppress  them,  no  physiognomist  to 
read  treason  in  the  face;  after  he  had  just  passed  through  a  painful  experience  through 
the  treachery  of  the  friendly  thane  of  Cawdor,  he  at  once,  overlooking  the  modest 
Banquo,  elevates  Macbeth  to  this  very  thaneship,  thereby  pampering  Macbeth's  ambi- 
tion, and  suffers  a  cruel  penalty  for  this  blunder  at  the  hands  of  the  new  thane,  his  own 
kinsman.  >|TEe  same  lack  of  foresight  ruins  Banquo.  He  had  been  admitted  to  the 
secret  of  the  weird  sisters ;  pledged  to  openness  towards  Macbeth,  he  had  an  oppor- 
tunity of  convincing  himself  of  his  obduracy  and  secrecy ;  he  surmises  and  suspects 
Macbeth's  deed,  yet  he  does  nothing  against  him  and  nothing  for  himself;  like, 
but  with  a  difference,  those  cowardly  impersonations  of  fear,  the  Doctor,  Seyton, 
Ross,  and  the  spying  ironical  Lennox,  he  suppresses  his  thoughts  and  wilfully  shuts 
his  eyes ;  he  falls,  having  done  nothing  in  a  field  full  of  dangers.  Macduff  is  not 
quite  so  culpable  in  this  respect;  he  is,  therefore,  punished,  not  in  his  own  person, 
but  in  the  fate  of  his  family,  which  makes  him  the  martyr-hero  by  whose  hand  Mac- 
beth falls.  .  .  .  Macduff  is,  by  nature,  what  Macbeth  once  was,  a  mixture  of  mild- 
ness and  force ;  he  is  more  than  Macbeth,  because  he  is  without  any  admixture  of 
ambition.  When  Malcolm  accuses  himself  to  Macduff  of  every  imaginable  vice, 
not  a  shadow  of  ambition  to  force  himself  into  the  usurper's  place  comes  over 
Macduff.  So  noble,  so  blameless,  so  mild,  Macduff  lacks  the  goad  of  sharp  ambi- 
tion necessary  to  make  him  a  victorious  opponent  of  Macbeth :  the  poet,  therefore. 
by  the  horrible  extermination  of  his  family,  drains  him  of  the  milk  of  human  kind- 
ness, and  so  fits  him  to  be  the  conqueror  of  Macbeth. 


~x 


KREYSSIG. 

F.  Kreyssig  (  Vorlisungen  uber  Shakspcar€y  vol.  ii,  p.  346.  Berlin,  1862).  As 
regards  wealth  of  thought,  Macbeth  ranks  far  below  Hamlet ;  it  lacks  the  wide,  free, 
historic  perfection  which  in  yulius  Casar  raises  us  above  the  horror  of  his  tragic 
fall.  It  cannot  be  compared  with  Othello  for  completeness,  depth  of  plot,  or  full, 
rich  illustration  of  character.  But,  in  our  opinion,  it  excels  all  that  Shakespeare,  or 
any  other  poet,  has  created,  in  the  simple  force  of  the  harmonious,  majestic  current 


f" 


ICREYSSIG.  471 

of  its  action,  in  the  transparency  of  its  plan,  in  the  nervous  power  and  bold  sweep 
of  its  language,  and  in  its  prodigal  wealth  of  poetical  coloring.  He  who,  to  illus- 
trate this  last  particular,  should  attempt  to  make  a  collection  of  the  striking 
passages  of  this  wonderful  poem,  would  be  tempted  to  transcribe  page  after 
page.  He  would  hardly  find  himself  under  any  necessity  of  making  selections 
where  all  is  so  fine.  With  especial  mastery  the  Poet  employe  the  colors  of  nature 
and  of  place  to  heighten  at  critical  points  the  interest  of  the  action.  It  is  here,  ii 
anywhere,  that  we  may  test  the  correctness  of  the  idea  that,  for  the  true  poet,  nature 
is  of  interest  only  as  the  element  in  which  man  lives  and  moves.  Shakespeare 
employs  her  various  aspects  in  a  two-fold  manner,  and  with  equally  excellent  effect 
in  his  tragic  scenes.  First  as  an  antithesis,  or  contrasting  background  for  human 
action,  and,  secondly,  symbolically,  as  a  magic  mirror,  reflecting  the  appearances  of 
the  moral  world  in  imaginative,  ominous  indefiniteness.  Both  kinds  of  representa- 
tion abound  in  Mcubeth,  ... 

We  would  not  by  any  means  adduce  the  Porter*s  conversation  with  Macduff 
as  an  example  of  tragic  style,  nor  would  we,  in  a  hyper>romantic  fashion,  quarrel 
with  Schiller  as  to  the  needlessness  and  inappropriateness  of  obscene  passages  to 
amuse  a  modem  German'  public  and  afford  it  a  respite  in  the  intervals  of  tragic 
excitement.  But  let  modern  critics  forbear  to  reproach  the  poet  of  a  ruder  age  and 
of  less  sensitive  nerves  for  offending  the  aesthetic  sensibility  of  a  later  time  with 
his  rough,  realistic  expressions,  in  keeping  as  they  are  with  the  age  described ;  after 
all,  the  coarseness  is  here  only  incidental ;  it  by  no  means  affects  the  general  tone  or 
tenor  of  the  scene.  The  child,  lightly  turning  away  from  its  mother's  cofHn  to 
the  breakfast-table  and  to  his  playthings,  appeals  to  our  natural  feeling  far  more 
powerfully  than  the  solemn  visage  of  the  undertaker  in  all  the  faultless  propriety 
of  his  spotless  cravat.  We  appeal  to  the  enthusiasts  in  ideal  art,  whether  the 
respectable  solemnity  of  the  secondary  personages  in  the  tragedies  of  the  Weimar 
stage  do  not  greatly  resemble  these  same  undertakers !  .  .  . 

The  attempt  has  been  made  to  regard  and  to  represent  this  play  of  Macbeth  as  a 
symbolical  transfiguration  of  the  transition  from  Northern  barbarism  to  Christian 
civilization.  Macbeth  accordingly  stands  before  us  as  the  representative  of  rude, 
unfettered  nature ;  his  English  opponents  appear  as  the  heralds  of  a  higher  culture ; 
his  overthrow  is  interpreted  as  the  triumph  of  a  gentler  age  over  the  Titanic  strength 
of  barbaric  heroes.  Gervinus  has  developed  this  idea  in  his  Shakespeare  with  equal 
genius  and  skill ;  but,  as  in  his  conception  of  the  signification  of  Lear  and  Hamlet^ 
he  seems  to  me,  however,  to  have  taken  a  position  hard  to  hold  in  view  of  a  simple 
understanding  of  the  text.  It  is  true  the  English  king  is  expressly  styled  by  Len- 
nox the  *  pious  Edward,'  and  commended  for  his  clemency.  But  we  hear  nobler 
gentleness  and  humanity  ascribed  to  the  Scottish  Duncan.  Macbeth's  foes  have 
not  the  most  distant  thought  of  introducing  new  customs,  or  of  changing  the  social 
order.  They  wish  merely  to  '  give  to  their  tables  meat,  and  sleep  to  their  nights.' 
It  is  only  actual,  personal  need  that  forces  them  into  the  conflict.  .  .  . 

So  Macbeth  affronts  us  as,  above  all  things,  the  man  of  action,  of  overpowering 
strength  and  resolution.  Thus  does  the  bleeding  soldier,  fresh  from  the  ranks, 
depict  him  to  the  king.  .  .  . 

But  this  strength  is  not  at  all  that  of  a  common  nature.  It  is  the  honest  instinct 
of  a  naturally  noble  character  which  recoils  from  the  first  encounter  with  temptation, 
from  .the  first  sight  of  the  Gorgon's  head  of  crime.  Thus  the  poet  paints  it  in  his 
masterly  way.  .  .  . 


472  APPENDIX. 

With  a  keen,  inexorable  eye  Macbeth  examines  the  reasons  that  condemn  bis 
crime  for  ever :  fealty  to  his  liege,  to  his  kinsman,  the  sanctity  of  his  guest,  the 
meekness  of  the  gracious  Duncan. 

He  does  not,  like  lago,  provide  himself  with  a  philosophy  of  egotism.     He  does 
not  persuade  himself  to  despise  the  virtuous  man  whom  he  purposes  to  destroy. 
And  later,  amid  all  the  horrors  of  his  bloody  career,  he  keeps  wholly  clear  from 
that  peculiarly  Lucifer's  sin,  from  the  diseased,  greedy  endeavor  to  lighten  the  con- 
sciousness of  his  own  worthlessness  by  increasing  the  guilt  of  his  confederates.     His 
^  wife's  deliberate,  seductive  influence  has  poisoned  his  life  for  ever.     He  feels  the 
torments  of  a  guilty  conscience  as  acutely  as  man  ever  did,  and  it  will   be  seen 
how  it  was  this  consuming  fire  of  suffering  that  supplied  him  with  the  force  needed 
.     for  the  full  developement  of  his  character.      But  his  tongue  utters  no  word  of 
'     reproach  to  his  accomplice,  the  originator  of  his  crime  and  of  his  misery.     The 
man,  in  his  strength,  even  deems  it  unseemly  to  allow  his  wife  to  share  the  terrible 
consequences  of  his  first  iatal  act :  'Be  innocent  of  the  knowledge/  &c.  .  .   . 

We  have  before  us  no  barbarian,  still  less,  a  callous  adept  in  crime.     He  feels 
the  enormity  of  his  guilt  with  the  pain  and  horror  only  to  be  found  in  natures  still 
£_^nweakened  and  uncorrupted.     But  his  morality  is,  from  the  beginning,  more  the 
result  of  habit  and  feeling  than  of  thought  or  will. 

Whenever  he  rises  out  of  the  whirl  of  emotion  and  the  fitful  horror  of  crime  to  a 
calmer  contemplation  of  things,  we  find  him  busied  in  weighing,  not  his  own  moral 
scruples,  but  the  expediency  of  his  violent  deeds.  His  instincts  as  a  man  of  honor, 
more  than  his  sense  of  right,  shrink  from  the  deed.  He  would  fain  wear  in  their 
newest  gloss  the  golden  opinions  which  he  has  bought  before  he  exposes  it  to  the 
hazard.  .  .  . 

But  it  is  as  a  public  robber,  and  not  as  a  perjured  traitor,  that  he  appears  before 
the  judgement-seat  of  his  conscience.  He  is  the  finest  t3rpe  that  we  possess  of 
the  old  Northern  barbarian.  The  ages  of  Teutonic  progress  produced  whole  races 
of  chieftains  whose  careers  and  fates  were  determined  by  the  same  unscrupulous 
craving  for  power  and  possession.  The  impression  these  annals  make  upon  us  is 
the  same  as  that  produced  by  reading  a  chapter  of  Thierry's  Meroinngian  ICings, 
which,  with  its  correct  impress  of  every  feature,  forms  so  great  a  contrast  to  the  sen- 
timental caricatures  that,  in  the  costume  of  the  Northmen  of  the  Middle  Ages, 
play  their  parts  in  the  poetry  of  modern  romance.  Equally  imposing,  but  far  more 
enigmatical,  alas !  is  the  character  of  his  wife  at  his  side.  We  hazard  the  contra- 
diction, which  this  *  alas '  raises,  of  the  established  traditional  admiration  of  this 
character,  not  indeed  that  we  consider  the  fearful  deformity  and  demoniac  hardness 
of  this  woman  to  be  unnatural  and  irreconcilable  with  the  fundamental  laws  of  psy- 
chological truth.  We  do  not  at  all  believe  that  narrower  bounds  are  set  to  moral 
delinquency  in  the  weaker  sex  than  in  the  stronger.  We  do  not  undertake  to  put 
out  of  sight  the  fact  that  the  very  tenderness  of  woman's  organization,  when  once 
in  the  power  of  evil,  degenerates  more  rapidly  and  more  completely  than  a  coarser 
but  stronger  nature.  We  are  prepared  to  allow  the  poet  full  exercise  of  his  right 
to  draw  all  that  is  extreme  and  most  violent  in  good,  and  also  in  evil,  into  the  ma^ic 
circle  of  his  plastic  genius, — but  we  feel  the  necessity  of  recognising  the  rule  in 
the  exception.  The  more  complete  the  corruption,  the  more  important  to  us  is  the 
knowledge  of  the  process  producing  such  an  effect ;  and  in  Lady  Macbeth  we  seem 
to  miss  the  dramatic  intuition  of  this  process.  In  a  word,  the  wife  of  the  thane  of 
j    Glamis  comes  before  us,  from  the  first,  as  an  accomplished  adept  in  crime,  a  being. 


^^ 


\ 


KREYSSIG.    X  473 

compared  with  whom,  the  soldier,  unscrupulous  in  his  ambition,  but  not  yet  entirely 
hardened,  shows  almost  like  sentimental  innocence.  A  careless  hint  of  Macbeth's 
hopes  suffices  for  her  to  seize  the  whole  idea  of  the  murder  without  a  trace  of 
scruple  or  inward  conflict.  The  easy  good-nature,  the  '  milk  of  human  kindness '  in 
her  husband,  is  her  only  concern ;  and  immediately,  when  the  opportunity  comes 
unexpectedly,  the  image  of  the  crime  rises  out  of  the  chaos  of  undefined  wishes, 
filling  her,  it  is  true,  with  the  horror  which  seizes  even  the  strongest  in  «he  actual 
presence  of  whatever  is  monstrous  in  imagination,  but  with  none  of  tl  e  natural 

abhorrence  of  conscience  at  the  approach  of  inexpiable  guilt.  .  .  . 

And  we  are  to  accept  all  this  horrible  speech  (*  I  have  given  suck,'  &c.)  as  a  com- 
plete, accomplished  fact,  as  something  which  is  as  natural  as  womanly  pity  and 
womanly  love.  We  do  not  see  the  trace  of  a  struggle  preceding  this  fiendish  resolu- 
tion. We  can  hardly  reckon  as  such  the  fact  that  the  heroic  lady  nerves  herself  to 
the  task  by  means  of  a  powerful  draught,  or  that  other  fact  that  she  would  have 
struck  the  sleeping  king  but  for  his  likeness  to  her  father ;  rather  should  we  ascribe 
both  incidents  to  physical  weakness  than  to  any  prompting  of  pity.  And  after  the 
deed  she  maintains  her  full  self-possession.  Her  nerves  flinch  not  before  the  terri- 
ble fact  at  which  the  obdurate  soldier  starts  back.  Calmly  she  re-enters  the  chamber 
of  horror  to  secure  to  her  husband — and  to  herself — the  fruit  of  the  king's  death 
through  the  judicial  execution  of  the  grooms.  Her  appearance  has  the  repose,  the 
assurance,  and  firmness  of  natural  feeling,  while  she  appears  to  us  and  to  herself 
the  personation  of  the  most  daring  rebellion  against  every  principle  of  society  and 
of  nature.  .  .  . 

*~  Macbeth  murders  Banquo  from  a  belief  in  that  very  oracle  which  made  it  evident 
that  the  murder  would  be  futile.  This  is  again  apparent  when  the  ghostly  appari- 
tion warns  him  against  Macduff",  although  the  very  next  prophecy  appears  to  deprive 
the  warning  of  all  point.  The  old  logic  of  passion,  and  an  evil  conscience !  It  is 
also  remarkable  how  Macbeth*s  heroic  nature,  as  soon  as  the  weakness  of  his  first 
terrible  excitement  is  over,  occupies  itself,  with  ever- increasing  power,  in  the  new  and 
fatal  course  upon  which  he  has  entered,  while  the  unnatural  over-estimate  of  her 
powers  breaks  down  his  masculine  wife  before  the  disappointment  of  her  hopes.  .  .  . 
Even  the  worst  disenchantment  of  all,  the  discovery  of  the  malignant  cunning  of 
the  last  oracle,  does  not  wrest  the  sword  from  his  hand.  He  pays,  as  a  man,  his 
fearful  penalty,  and  we  have  to  confess  that  long.before  Macduff^'s  sword  reaches 
him  he  has  tasted  the  bitterest  punishment,  and  that  the  worst  dissonances  are  at  an 
end.  The  sharp,  bloody  remedy  of  the  terrible  soul-sickness  reconciles  our  aesthetic, 
as  well  as  edifies  our  moral,  nature.  To  express  in  few  words  our  judgement  on  the 
tragedy  of  Macbeth,  we  find  it  penetrates  less  deeply  than  Lear,  Othello  and  Hamlet 
into  the  mysterious  region  where  thought  decides  both  deed  and  destiny.  Its  central 
life  rests  less  in  the  moral  and  spiritual  consciousness,  and  its  logical  developement, 
than  upon  the  unalloyed  strength  of  that  feeling  which  binds  the  individual,  though 
he  be  the  strongest,  to  the  laws  that  govern  our  race.  But  the  conflict  between  this 
feeling  and  the  overpowering,  selfish  impulse,  its  defeat  and  its  inexorable,  all-de- 
stroying revenge,  is  pictured  in  this  poem  with  unequalled  power.  And,  as  feeling 
and  action  are  more  under  the  control  of  the  art  of  the  poet  than  the  mysterious  work- 
ing of  the  thought  that  mediates  beween  the  two,  so  this  wonderful  drama  surpasses 
every  other  creation  of  old  or  modem  times,  by  the  enthralling  splendor  of  its  poeti- 
cal coloring,  and  by  the  irresistible  force  of  its  dramatic  and  scenic  effect. 
40* 


474  APPENDIX. 

A 

FLATHE.  U/^f\/<, 

J.  L.  F.  Flathk  {Shakespeare  in  seiner  IVirJkliehkeit,  vol.  ii,  pp.  9-167,  1864). 
Shakespeare's  Macbeth  at  the  moment  when  he  first  appears  in  the  tragedy  thinks 
of  murder  and  of  nothing  but  murder.  .  .  . 

The  devil  visits  those  only  who  invite  him  in.  A  fall  from  grace  is  the  result 
of  man's  alienating  his  heart  from  the  Being  to  whom  his  love  should  belong. 
Only  when  man  has  driven  forth  from  his  heart  its  inborn  purity,  and  wilfully 
opened  the  door  of  his  inner  world  to  demons,  does  evil  acquire  vitality  within 
him,  and  find  expression  in  action.  These  are  the  actual,  ofl-repeated  thoughts  of  ' 
Shakespeare.  He  never  entertains  the  idea  that  the  devil  can  be  the  lord  and  master 
of  our  existence.  On  the  contrary,  it  is  said  in  Macbeth,  as  we  shall  hereafter  show, 
that  all  the  power  of  hell  has  been  crippled. 

Schlegel,  with  great  coolness  and  self-complacency,  has  copied  what  he  found  in 
Steevens  concerning  Banquo.  Consequently  he  declares  that  Banquo  preserves  all 
his  purity  and  honesty  of  purpose,  unaffected  by  the  infernal  suggestions  to  which 
poor,  gallant  Macbeth  succumbs. 

But  we  are  constrained  to  ask,  what  devil  gives  the  devil  such  power  over  this 
poor  devil  of  a  Macbeth,  that  he  is  so  immediately  led  astray,  while  we  see,  in  the 
case  of  Banquo,  that  any  man  who  chooses  can  easily  withstand  the  devil  ?  .  .  . 

In  common  with  all  human-kind,  Macbeth  was  at  the  first,  if  not  honest,  at 
least  not  dishonest,  for  good  not  evil  is  original  and  innate  in  us.  It  is  true  it 
must  be  elevated  and  ennobled  by  that  free  will,  without  which  no  conflict  with 
evil  is  possible.  Macbeth's  position  in  life  was  an  exalted  one.  Sordid  want  and 
poverty  could  not  so  nearly  approach  him  as  to  lure  him  from  the  path  of  duty 
and  virtue.  Power  and  honor,  on  the  contrary,  attracted  him  to  remain  true  to  the 
Right.  Their  increase,  with  promise  of  calm  enjoyment,  would  be  the  result  of  that 
adherence  to  it,  to  which  he  was  still  more  constrained  by  his  rich  and  varied  mental 
endowments. 

But  in  spite  of  every  incitement  to  good,  Macbeth  gradually  pursued  the  path  of 
evil.  He  turned  aside  from  the  wisdom  which  is  love  of  the  Divine,  renounced 
the  morality  which  consists  in  a  life  of  intellectual  activity,  and  even  abjured  con- 
science in  its  prime  and  essential  significance,  the  peculiarly  human  attribute  of  hu- 
manity. Thus  he  rendered  all  his  knowledge  not  only  empty  and  unproductive, 
but  it  was  a  positive  torture  to  him.  Macbeth  was  disposed  to  sensuality  and  sensual 
delights.  They  did  not  seek  him,  they  did  not  thrust  themselves  upon  him,  he  sum- 
moned them  to  him.  He  followed  a  path  that  we  have  seen  trodden  by  millions 
upon  millions  of  our  race.  For  ever  and  aye,  through  centuries,  through  cycles  of 
history,  man  has  fallen  into  the  same  error  of  supposing  that  the  life  of  our  life  is  to 
be  found  in  the  miserable  gratifications  of  sense,  of  believing  that  sin,  frivolity  and 
wine  must  be  aids  in  attaining  and  holding  fast  sensual  delights. 

At  first,  Macbeth  contented  himself  with  the  lesser  pleasures  that  the  world  of  sense 
can  afford.  His  joy  lay  [IV,  iii,  57,  58]  in  luxury,  wealth  and  women,  often  most 
miserably  won.  In  addition,  aware  that  evil  often  attains  its  ends  more  speedily  in 
virtue's  mask,  he  made  hypocrisy  his  constant  study.  The  tragedy  shows  him  to  be 
an  adept  in  it.  With  murder  in  his  heart,  he  addresses  the  fairest  words  to  him 
whose  death  is  the  aim  of  all  his  energies.  He  can  give  utterance  to  a  lament  that 
sounds  almost  genuine,  over  the  corpse  of  his  victim,  and  comfort  himself  as  if  ibis 


FLA  THE.  475 

death  had  wrung  his  very  soul.  The  tragedy  shows  us  Macbeth  from  the  first  as 
a  crafty  and  practised  hypocrite,  and  although  German  aesthetic  criticism  in  particular 
declares  that  the  poet  here  portrays  a  noble,  heroic  nature,  degraded  by  crime,  there 
is  not  the  faintest  trace  of  any  such  to  be  discovered  in  the  piece  itself,  although 
searched  for  with  the  aid  of  a  hundred  thousand  spectacles.  .  .  . 

Thus  Shakespeare,  who  always  clings  firmly  to  the  realities  of  existence,  carries  out 
his  poetic  fable  of  Macbeth.  Unsatisfied  by  the  smaller  honors  that  he  has  attained, 
Macbeth  casts  his  eyes  upon  the  highest  of  which  he  knows,  a  royal  crown.  This 
only,  he  believes,  can  content  him.  It  rests  upon  the  head  of  a  reverend  old  man,  and 
Macbeth  has  not  the  shadow  of  foundation  to  a  claim  upon  it.  But  trained  by  pre- 
vious crime,  his  feelings  already  blunted,  his  heart  already  hardened,  he  resolves  im- 
mediately to  attain  it  by  murder.  He  takes  an  oath  to  commit  it  as  soon  as  time 
and  opportunity,  which  can  readily  be  arranged,  should  prove  favourable.  The 
tragedy  repeatedly  refers  to  this  oath,  which  dates  from  a  time  previous  to  its 
commencement. 

But  the  murder  of  a  king,  particularly  if  it  has  for  its  object  the  attainment  of  a 
crown,  is  no  small  matter.  The  scaffold  and  the  sword  of  the  executioner  might 
well  be  the  answer  to  a  demand  for  earthly  dominion  made  after  such  a  fashion. 
Macbeth,  therefore,  is  a  prey  to  anxiety,  and  looks  about  for  aid  and  support.  Then 
he  encounters  the  witches  upon  his  path ;  and  they  are  to  appear  to  him  again  at  a 
later  period.  Macbeth  does  not  deceive  himself  with  regard  to  them ;  he  knows  that 
they  are  infernal  spirits,  but  he  makes  friends  with  them  because  through  them  he 
hopes  to  steady  the  ground  beneath  him,  if  only  during  his  earthly  existence.  And 
thus  the  evil  that  was  within  him  strides  on  to  the  limits  ordained  for  it,  and  the 
sense  and  significance  of  the  poetic  fable  and  tragedy  are  first  revealed  to  us.  A 
gigantic  presentment  of  human  sin  is  unfolded.  For  the  sake  of  the  miserable  de- 
lights of  this  world  men  will  cast  their  humanity  into  the  dust — rebel  against  their 
true  selves,  outrage  divinity,  nay,  if  they  could,  sell  themselves  to  the  devil.*  In  Mac- 
beth is  manifest  in  especial  that  characteristic  of  human  nature  that  is  always, 
although  perhaps  not  to  the  degree  shown  in  this  instance,  conscious  of  wandering 
in  paths  of  error  that  can  only  lead  to  destruction. 

Macbeth  had  probably  long  revolved  in  his  own  breast  thoughts  of  murder  and 
the  ambitious  hopes  connected  with  them.  But  man  is  a  social  and  sympathetic 
being.  Macl>eth  needs  a  human  breast  in  which  to  confide,  that  can  revel  with  him 
in  his  dreams  of  future  grandeur  and  magnificence.  And  to  whom  could  he  more 
prudently  turn  than  to  his  wedded  wife,  who  was  to  share  with  him  the  crown  he 
hoped  to  win  f  And  yet  such  a  confidence  even  to  a  wife  is  a  serious,  if  not  a  danger- 
ous affair.  Macbeth  con  only  have  brought  himself  to  reveal  his  murderous  design 
to  his  spouse  in  the  certainty  that  it  would  find  welcome  lodgement  with  her. 

Thus  Lady  Macbeth  makes  her  appearance  as  the  second  tragic  figure  in  the 
poetic  fable.  German  aesthetic  criticism,  following  the  lead  given  it  in  England,  will 
have  it  tha.  Lady  Macbeth  seduced  poor,  gallant  Macbeth  to  commit  the  murder, 
because  she  was  an  evil  woman,  familiar  with  crime,  in  fact  more  a  tiger  than  a 
human  being.  Now,  since  no  human  being  comes  into  the  world  a  tiger,  certainly 
German  criticism,  especially  since  it  lays  claim  to  such  immense  erudition,  ought  to 
declare  by  whom  the  Lady  has  been  led  astray  and  transformed  to  a  tiger.  But  it 
eludes  the  trouble  of  such  a  revelation,  and  insists  that  its  assertion  that  the  Lady  was 

*  They  go  in  the  way  of  Cain  and  run  greedily  after  error  for  the  take  of  worldly  enjoyment,  and 
perish  in  confusion. 


476  APPENDIX. 

a  tiger  shall  be  satisfactory.  Tlie  tragedy  itself  proves  as  clearly  as  daylight  that 
Shakespeare,  if  he  thought  of  seduction  at  all,  did  not  dream  of  it  as  practised  upon 
Macbeth  by  his  wife.  If  there  were  any  hint  of  such  arts,  bom  as  they  are  of  the  slough 
of  pseudo-rationalism,  it  might  far  sooner  be  shown  that  the  lady  was  seduced  by  her 
husband ;  at  least  some  apparent  proofs  in  support  of  such  an  idea  might  be  gleamed 
from  the  drama. 

Like  Macbeth,  Lady  Macbeth  is  self-corrupted.  And  once  corrupt  she  is 
worse  than  her  husband.  Nothing  is  more  natural  than  this.  A  degenerating 
woman  always  falls  lower  than  a  man,  because  greater  force  of  evil  intent  is 
necessary  to  overpower  a  more  exquisite  innate  purity.  Lady  Macbeth  has  already 
committed  a  number  of  minor  crimes  when  Macbeth  imparts  to  her  his  regicidal 
schemes.  She  exults  in  them  as  he  had  anticipated,  and  the  pair  are  henceforth 
linked  firmly  together  by  the  bond  that  so  often  unites  criminals  for  mutual 
advantage. 

Because,  as  a  woman,  Lady  Macbeth  falls  lower  than  a  man,  she  is  more  intent 
on  murder  than  murderous  Macbeth  himself.  She  affronts  the  deed  more  boldly, 
setting  at  naught  minor  considerations  that  present  themselves  to  him.  The  rela- 
tions presented  by  the  tragedy  are  thus  perfectly  clear.  .  .  . 

It  is  true,  Banquo  has  not  attained  the  colossal  greatness  and  firmness  in  evil  that 
belong  to  Macbeth  and  Lady  Macbeth,  but  he  is  morally  well  prepared  for  deeds 
of  darkness.  He  will  not  seek  out  sin  in  its  lair,  and  bind  himself  by  an  oath  to 
create  an  opportunity  for  crime,  but  should  such  an  opportunity  with  fair  promise 
of  reward  present  itself,  he  is  not  the  man  to  refuse  to  take  advantage  of  it.  Banquo 
is  not  aware  of  Macbeth*s  murderous  intent  towards  the  king,  but  he  knows  his 
comrade  in  arms,  and  feels  that  he  would  not  shrink  from  a  bloody  deed  if  any  great 
advancement  were  to  be  attained  by  it.  .  .  . 

[After  witnessing  Macbeth's  emotion  at  the  salutations  of  the  witches,  and  clearly 
discerning  his  intentions  of  making  them  good,  an]  honest  man  would  have  made  it 
his  task  from  that  moment  to  prevent  the  commission  of  a  great  crime.  A  virtuous, 
nay,  even  a  tolerably  upripht  Banquo  would  have  espoused  a  double  duty.  On  one 
side,  King  Duncan  should  have  been,  at  first  gently,  and  then  as  danger  threatened 
firmly  and  decidedly,  warned  against  an  easy  security,  an  unconditional  confidence. 
On  the  other  side,  there  was  Macbeth  to  be  gravely,  perhaps  menacingly,  advised. 
And  how  easy  a  task  would  this  last,  at  least,  have  proved  for  Banquo !  Could  he 
not  say  to  Macbeth:  *I  have  heard  the  witches  promise  you  a  royal  crown,  I  see 
the  tumult  of  agitation  excited  within  you — guard  against  any  thoughts  of  verifying 
the  prophecy  by  violence,  above  all  take  heed  not  to  meditate  evil  towards  our  rev- 
erend King.  I  hold  you  responsible  for  his  safety  :  should  he  die  and  I  suspect  you 
as  the  cause  of  his  death,  stand  in  awe  of  my  unflinching  testimony,  my  avenging 
sword.*  But  Banquo  in  neither  case  does  what,  as  matters  stand,  the  merest  sense  of 
duty,  of  honor,  and  of  virtue  requires  of  him.  On  the  contrary,  he  comports  himself 
precisely  as  the  witches,  as  evil  spirits,  would  have  him,  since  he  neglects  everythini' 
that  could  delay  Macbeth  in  his  criminal  career.  The  witches  desire  that  Macbeth 
should  be  free  to  act,  to  murder — they  desire  that  Banquo  should  place  no  obstacle 
in  the  way  of  his  murderous  intent;  and  their  desire  in  both  cases  is  fulfilled. 

If  Shakespeare  had  any  idea  of  a  seduction  from  the  path  of  virtue,  surely  it 
must  be  maintained  that  both  Macbeth  and  Banquo  were  the  victims  of  the  witches. 
It  is  ridiculous  for  German  aesthetic  criticism  to  talk  so  much  of  an  uncorrur»ted 
Banquo. 


FLA  THE.  477 

Banquo  believes  that,  if  the  prophecy  with  regard  to  the  royal  honors  of  his  pos- 
terity be  true,  Macbeth  must  first  be  king — ^the  sceptre  must  fall  into  his  hands  for  a 
while.  At  least  the  witches  point  to  such  a  course  and  sequence  of  events.  There- 
fore he  abstains  from  working  for  Duncan  or  against  Macbeth.  He  will  do  nothing 
that  may  interfere  with  the  future  greatness  of  his  line.  If  worldly  afSsurs  run 
smoothly,  men  do  not  greatly  trouble  themselves  as  to  whether  or  not  they  are  adul- 
terated by  something  of  the  devilish  element. 

In  the  legend,  Banquo's  sympathy  with,  nay,  complicity  in,  the  murder  of  Duncan 
s  made  perfectly  clear.  This  it  was  the  poet's  task  to  do  away  with.  He  trans- 
forms Banquo's  crime  into  one  which  consists  in  remaining  silent,  in  refusing  to 
act — and  thus  to  a  degree  veils  it.  .  .  . 

When  Macbeth  says :  *  Speak,  if  you  can. — What  are  you  ?*  it  must  not  be  in- 
ferred that  he  has  just  met  these  evil  beings  for  the  first  time.  Witches  can  take 
upon  themselves  a  variety  of  material  forms.  Macbeth  may  not  have  seen  them 
before  in  their  present  shapes.  By  his  question  he  wishes  to  ascertain  if  these  appa 
ritions  belong  to  the  class  of  evil  spirits  with  which  he  is  familiar.  In  this  very  scene 
there  is  proof  that  Macbeth  is  well  acquainted  with  witches  and  their  kind.  .  .  . 

This  warning :  '  oftentimes  to  win  us  to  our  harm',  &c.,  comes  oddly  enough  from 
the  lips  of  a  man  who  has  just  questioned  the  witches  himself  with  such  haste  and 
eagerness.  Here  we  have  the  first  glimpse  of  the  deceit  and  falsehood  practised  by 
Banquo  upon  himself.  .  .  . 

Banquo  would  so  gladly  esteem  himself  an  honourable  man ;  therefore  he  warns 
Macbeth,  although  as  briefly  as  possible,  against  the  devil.  He  knows  tb«f^a  mere 
warning  will  avail  nothing,  but  he  ignores  this,  wishing  to  be  able  to  say  to  himself, 
when  Macbeth  has  attained  his  end,  '  I  am  guiltless,  I  warned  him  against  the 
devil.'  Had  Banquo  been  really  true,  how  differently  he  would  have  borne 
himself!  .  .  . 

When  Macbeth  says, '  Come  what  come  may.  Time  and  the  hour  run  through  the 
roughest  day,'  he  for  the  first  time  resolves  to  murder  Duncan.  His  second  resolu- 
tion starts  into  life  when  the  King  announces  the  Prince  of  Cumberland  as  his 
successor.  .  .  . 

One  word  of  caution  from  Banquo  [when  the  King  was  lavishing  honors  upon 
Macbeth]  would  have  sufficed  to  establish  measures  that  would  have  made  it  im- 
possible for  assassination  to  find  a  way  at  night  through  unclosed  doors.  But  Ban- 
quo  takes  good  care  to  speak  no  such  word.  A  villain  at  heart,  he  does  nothing  to 
impede  the  fulfilment  of  crime.  .  .  . 

Almost  every  line  of  the  tragedy  shows  the  fabeness  of  the  German  aesthetic  criti- 
cism which  prates  smoothly  on  about  the  evil  seed  first  sown  by  the  witches,  and 
developed  to  murder  in  the  Castle  of  Macbeth.  On  the  contrary,  every  line  goes  to 
prove  that  evil  has  been  long  contemplated  there,  and  has  only  awaited  a  favorable 
opportunity.  .  .  . 

Banquo  enters  [II,  i]  with  his  son  Fleance,  who  holds  a  torch.  Will  not  the 
man  do  something  at  last  for  his  king,  take  some  measures  to  prevent  a  cruel  crime  ? 
Everything  combines  to  enjoin  the  most  careful  watchfulness  upon  him,  if  duty  and 
honour  are  yet  quick  within  his  breast ;  and  here  we  come  to  a  speech  of  Banquo's  to 
his  son  to  which  we  must  pay  special  heed,  since  upon  it  the  earlier  English  commen- 
tators, Steevens  among  them,  have  based  their  ridiculous  theory  that  in  this  tragedy 
Banquo,  in  contrast  to  Macbeth,  who  is  led  astray,  represents  the  man  unseduced  by 
evil.     Steevens  says  that  this  passage  shows  that  Banquo  too  is  tempted  by  the 


478  APPENDIX. 

witches  in  his  dreams  to  do  something  in  aid  of  the  fulfilment  of  his  hopes,  and  that 
in  his  waking  hours  he  holds  himself  aloof  from  all  such  suggestions,  and  hence  his 
prayer  to  be  spared  the  •  cursed  thoughts  that  nature  gives  way  to  in  repose.' 

A  stranger  or  more  forced  explanation  of  this  passage  can  hardly  be  imagined. 
It  is  true  that  somewhat  later  in  the  scene,  after  the  entrance  of  Macbeth,  Banquo 
speaks  of  having  dreamed  of  the  witches,  but  that  has  not  the  faintest  connection 
with  these  expressions.  He  is  neither  alluding  to  the  witches  nor  to  a  former  dream, 
nor  to  dreaming  at  all,  but  he  is  thinking  of  the  sleep  that  awaits  him  and  the 
thoughts  that  may  visit  him  in  it.  A  merely  superficial  reading  of  his  words  declares 
decidedly  against  Steevens's  interpretation  of  them ;  and  their  whole  meaning  and 
connection  are  still  more  opposed  to  it.  It  is  impossible  that  Banquo  should  be 
incited,  either  waking  or  dreaming,  by  the  witches  to  action  in  aid  of  the  fulfilment 
of  his  hopes.     What  direction  could  such  action  take  ? 

Banquo*s  hopes  for  his  lineage  can  only  be  furthered  by  the  removal  of  Duncan 
and  by  Macbeth's  accession  to  the  throne.  In  the  existing  state  of  affairs  nothings  is 
necessary  to  effect  both  these  ends,  upon  Banquo's  part,  but  that  he  should  do 
nothing  for  Duncan  or  against  Macbeth.  And  he  has  faithfully  remained  inactive ; 
he  has  exactly  obeyed  the  unspoken  injunction  of  the  witches  to  pay  no  heed  to  the 
voice  of  truth,  of  duty,  nor  of  honour.  Therefore  it  is  clearly  impossible  that  the 
witches  should  come  to  the  sleeping  Banquo  to  require  anything  more  of  him  than 
what  he  is  already  doing.  He  opposes  no  obstacle  to  the  murder.  What  more  can 
the  witches  require  of  him  ? 

The  passage  in  question,  therefore,  must  be  elucidated  more  naturally,  and  more 
in  harmony  with  the  whole.  As  he  has  already  done,  Banquo  here  [II,  i]  en- 
deavours as  far  as  possible  to  assert  his  own  innocence  to  himself,  while,  for  the  sake 
of  his  future  advantage,  he  intends  to  oppose  no  obstacle  to  the  sweep  of  Macbeth's 
sword.  It  is,  therefore,  necessary  that  he  should  pretend  to  himself  that  here  in 
Macbeth's  castle  no  danger  can  threaten  Duncan  nor  any  one  else.  Therefore  his 
sword  need  not  rest  by  his  side  this  night,  and  he  gives  it  to  his  son.  He  must  be 
able  to  say  to  himself,  in  the  event  of  any  fearful  catastrophe,  *  I  never  thought  of, 
or  imagined,  any  danger,  and  so  I  laid  aside  my  arms.* 

And  yet,  try  as  he  may,  he  cannot  away  with  the  stifling  sensation  of  a  tempest  in 
the  air,  a  storm-cloud  destined  to  burst  over  Duncan's  head  this  very  night.  He 
cannot  but  acknowledge  to  himself  that  a  certain  restless  anxiety  in  his  brain  is 
urging  him,  in  spite  of  his  weariness,  to  remain  awake  during  the  remaining  hours 
of  the  night.  But  this  mood,  these  sensations,  must  not  last,  or  it  might  seem  a 
sacred  duty  either  to  hasten  to  the  chamber  of  King  Duncan  or  to  watch  it  closelv, 
that  its  occupant  may  be  shielded  from  murderous  wiles.  To  avoid  this,  Banquo 
denounces  the  thoughts  of  Macbeth  that  arise  in  his  mind  as  *  cursed  thoughts.'  So 
detestably  false  are  they  that  a  merciful  Power  must  be  entreated  to  restrain  them 
during  sleep,  when  the  mind  is  not  to  be  completely  controlled. 

With  every  change  in  the  aspect  of  affairs  Banquo's  self-deceit  appears  in  some 
new  form.  Banquo  here  banishes  his  thoughts  from  his  mind,  or  rather  maintains 
to  himself  that  he  has  banished  them,  or  that  he  must  banish  them  because  they  do 
injustice  to  noble  Macbeth,  whom,  nevertheless,  he  has  thought  it  necessary  to  warn 
against  the  devil.  .  .  . 

The  rOle  that  the  porter,  in  his  tipsy  mood,  assigns  himself,  and  the  speeches  that 
he  makes  in  character,  stand  in  significant  connection  with  the  whole  tragedy. 
Awakened  by  the  knocking  at  the  castle  gate,  he  imagines  himself  porter  at  thf 


FLA  THE.  479 

entrance  of  hell.  And  this  brings  us  to  the  central  point  of  the  drama,  wherein  is 
revealed  to  us  the  deepest  fall  made  by  man  into  the  abyss  of  evil.  For  those  who, 
like  Macbeth,  plunge  into  it,  voluntarily  and  knowingly,  the  other  world  can  unclose 
no  garden  of  delights ;  an  allegorical  hell  awaits  them. 

Therefore  it  is  of  hell  that  the  porter  speaks :  and  therefore  it  is  that  the  poet 
makes  him  speak  thus.  But  Macbeth  is  not  the  only  one  who  goes  this  way ;  men 
press  hither  in  crowds,  and  often  take  the  greatest  pains  and  trouble  not  to  avoid 
the  entrance  to  this  place  of  punishment.  And  so  the  porter  grumbles  that  there  is 
such  a  constant  knocking  at  the  gate  of  hell,  and  that  crowds  of  all  conditions  stand 
without,  who  have  journeyed  along  the  primrose  way  to  the  everlasting  bonfire.  As 
he  enumerates  the  various  kinds  of  guests  at  this  gate,  he  mentions  equivocators, 
traitors  who  juggle  with  the  Highest,  who  swear  by  this  to-day,  by  that  to-morrow, 
pursuing  their  wiles  beneath  God's  protection  and  invoking  his  aid. 

Some  of  the  earlier  English  critics  most  oddly  opine  that  the  poet  here  intended 
an  allusion  to  the  Jesuits.  How  could  so  great  and  ingenious  a  poet  dream  of  inter- 
polating in  his  work  so  foreign  a  subject?  The  porter's  speech  evidently  hints  at 
Banquo.  As  if  by  chance,  the  man  imagines  waiting  for  admission  at  the  infernal 
gate  just  such  another  as  Banquo ;  one  who,  like  him,  would  fain  shelter  his  treach- 
eries behind  the  name  of  God  taken  in  vain.  Banquo  did  that,  when,  in  gross  self- 
deception,  he  implored  the  *  merciful  powers  *  to  restrain  in  him  his  perfectly  just 
thoughts  of  Macbeth,  which  he  would  fain  persuade  himself  are  *  cursed.'  .  .  . 

Lady  Macbeth  appears  as  the  second  figure  of  the  tragedy.  After  a  few  words, 
uttered  with  difficulty,  she  falls  down  in  a  swoon  and  is  borne  off  the  stage.  Any 
child  could  declare  that  this  swoon  was  only  feigned  to  avoid  all  further  embar- 
rassment. But  it  must  not  be  imagined  that  there  is  any  feigning  here.  The  poet, 
in  Lady  Macbeth,  gives  another  view  of  human  nature  steeped  in  sin  from  that  por- 
trayed in  Macbeth  himself.  In  her,  as  her  former  dreams  prove  mockeries  and 
unreal,  the  whole  mental  organization  receives  an  annihilating  blow  from  that  first 
deed  of  blood,  beneath  which  it  may  stagger  on  for  a  while,  but  from  which  it  can 
never  entirely  recover.  For  one  moment,  immediately  after  the  deed.  Lady  Macbeth 
can  overmaster  her  husband  and  stand  defiantly  erect,  as  if  to  challenge  hell  to 
combat.  But  this  was  but  a  momentary  intoxication ;  it  is  even  now  over.  She  is 
already  conscious  that  she  can  never  banish  from  her  breast  the  consciousness  of  her 
crime ;  she  has  found  out  that  her  wisdom,  which  spumed  at  reflection,  is  naught. 
The  deed  that  she  has  done  stands  clear  before  her  soul  in  unveiled,  horrible  distinct- 
ness, and  therefore  she  swoons  away. 

Divine  sorrow  has  not  yet  found  entrance  to  her  breast,  but  it  is  approaching. 
She  will  still  try  to  maintain  herself  firmly  in  the  path  upon  which  she  has  entered, 
but  with  the  progress  of  events,  even  her  desire  to  do  so  will  become  weaker  and 
weaker.  ... 

And  Banquo  [HI,  i,  15, '  Let  your  Highness  command  upon  me,'  &c.]  can  declare 
firm,  unalterable  fealty  to  the  very  man  whom  to  himself  he  has  just  accused,  almost 
in  so  many  words,  of  attaining  the  throne  by  the  assassination  of  his  royal  master ! 
Such  a  declaration  could  only  have  been  made  by  one  whose  own  heart  is  closely 
allied  to  evil.  The  emotion  excited  in  Banquo's  breast  against  Macbeth  must  be- 
come stronger.  He  feels  obliged  to  invent  fair  words  to  conceal  his  secret.  The 
hypocrite  Macbeth  is  served  with  hypocrisy.  .  .  . 

It  is  not  without  significance  that  in  this  scene  [III,  vi]  there  is  frequent  mention 
of  most  pious  men  and  holy  angels.     Such  mention  is  meant  to  remind  us  that  there 


48o  APPENDIX. 

is  a  moral  force  always  present  in  the  world,  ready  to  come  forth  yictorioiis  in  its 
time  and  place.  .  .  . 

Macbeth  enters  [IV,  i]  and  bears  unmistakeable  testimony  to  the  fact  that  he  has 
been  familiar  with  this  company  long  before  the  beginning  of  the  tra^^edy.  He 
needs  not  to  inquire  the  way  leading  hither,  he  knows  it  already. 


RUMELIN. 

ROmelin  (Skakespearestudien^  p.  68.  Stuttgart,  1866).  The  dramatic  treatment  in 
Macbeth  offers  but  small  scope  for  realistic  criticism,  since  from  beginning  to  end  the 
drama  is  enacted  in  the  mythological  region  of  hoary  eld,  and  supernatural  powers 
are  employed,  against  which  there  can  be  no  pragmatic  criticism.     This  freedom  the 
poet  had  of  course  the  same  right  to  use  as  had  the  old  tragedians,  or  Goethe  in  his 
*  Iphigenia,'  when  they  transported  us  to  the  land  of  the  old  gods  and  legendary  demi- 
gods.    If,  however,  the  weird  sisters  are  not  to  be  considered  as  real,  as  the  majority 
of  Shakespeare  critics  would  fain  persuade  us,  but  only  as  the  hero's  visions,  like  the 
Ghosts  in  Richard  III,  merely  external  manifestations  of  mental  experiences,  desires 
and  torments,  then  indeed  the  critic  from  the  realistic  point  of  view  would  have  to 
assert  himself  with  redoubled  power,  and  the  action  of  the  tragedy  would  be  utterly 
inconceivable.      But  this  conception  rests  upon  the  weakest  of  argtmients,  and  is 
opposed  to  every  natural  interpretation. 

;^  One  essential  point  is  clear — namely,  that  the  witches  foretell  the  future,  and  with 
an  accuracy  that  does  not  fail  in  the  very  smallest  particular.  Of  all  their  prophe- 
cies, only  one,  that  he  should  be  king,  has  any  previous  lodgement  in  Macbeth*s 
breast ;  that  the  crown  should  descend  to  Banquo's  children,  of  whom  the  last  two 
should  bear  two-fold  balls  and  treble  sceptres,  that  Macduff  should  slay  Macbeth,  that 
Bimam's  wood  should  come  to  Dunsinane,  and'the  like,  are  not  for  a  moment  to  be 
conceived  of  if  we  adopt  that  interpretation.  fThtse  weird  sisters  had,  in  sooth,  no 
control  over  Macbeth;  their  prophecies  no  more  annihilated  his  free-will  than  the 
oracles  of  the  Delphic  god  debarred  CEdipus  from  being  a  free  agent.  That  Banquo 
stood  in  a  different  relation  to  these  prophecies  from  Macbeth,  whereon  this  inter- 
pretation lays  so  much  stress,  does  not  in  the  least  change  the  state  of  the  case. 

\  Moreover,  the  tenor  of  the  prophecy  which  referred  to  him  was  not  of  such  a  nature 
as  called  for  any  action  on  his  part.  It  was  readily  conceivable,  since  he  himself 
belonged  to  the  royal  family,  that  his  descendants  should  wear  the  crown :  as  far  as 
he  was  concerned  he  could  neither  aid  nor  hinder  it.  Clearly  enough,  indeed,  does  the 
poet  depict  his  witches  not  as  divine,  creative  beings,  bearing  sway  over  man,  but  as 
devilish  ones,  leading  him  into  temptation  and  delighting  in  evil.  That  the  poet 
must  have  conceived  of  them  as  creatures  real  and  supernatural,  and  prescient  of 
the  future,  no  unprejudiced  reader  will  have  the  least  doubt.  ...  A  poet  has  an 

I  undisputed  right  to  choose  for  himself  the  scene  of  his  dramatic  action.  If  he  trans- 
port us  to  a  world  of  pure  or  only  partial  fantasy,  we  must  follow  him  thither  and 
give  due  credit  to  all  the  imaginary  conditions  which  he  devises  for  us ;  but  if  he  trans- 
port us  to  real  and  historic  ground,  then  he  himself  must  respect  the  laws  which  there 
bear  sway,  and  must  submit  himself  to  the  criticism  which  they  sanction.  Thus  alone 
shall  we  be  able  to  understand  Shakespeare's  Macbeth  in  all  its  magnificent  beauty: 

'  but  not  if  we  resolve  the  forms,  to  which  his  imagination  imparts  in  the  realm  of 
poetry  a  real  existence,  into  vague,  mongrel  things  of  vision  and  convenience. 


RUMELIN.  481 

Under  such  conditions  there  is  little  to  be  said  against  the  action  in  Macbeth,  There 
are,  perchance,  a  few  trifling  gaps  in  the  action ;  for  instance,  the  instantaneous  flight 
of  the  two  Princes  after  Duncan's  death  is  noticeable  and  not  sufficiently  accounted 
for.     Also,  the  incentive  to  the  murder  of  Banquo  is  not  wholly  satisfactory.     Since 

I    Macbeth  is  childless,  and  Banquo  belongs  to  the  royal  race,  the  thought  that  Ban-^ 
quo*s  descendants  should  be  kings  could  convey  nothing  shocking  nor  intolerable 
to  Macbeth ;  moreover,  he  must  take  the  prophecy  of  the  witches  as  a  whole,  without 
being  permitted  to  bring  to  naught  any  particular  item  of  it  that  he  pleased.     We 
must  have  recourse  to  the  excuse  that  in  the  soliloquy  where  he  resolves  upon  the 

\  murder,  Macbeth  contemplates  the  possibility  of  his  having  sons,  or  else,  which  is 
more  likely,  that  the  poet,  who  in  this  place  also  may  have  written  from  scene  to 
scene,  forgot  in  this  passage  what  elsewhere  he  has  expressly  stated,  that  Macbeth  was 
a  childless  father. 

More  serious  difficulties  occur  in  the  character  of  Lady  Macbeth.  Her  demeanor 
before  the  deed  and  after  it  appears  to  violate  that  psychological  law  of  essen- 
tial unity  and  consistency  of  character  to  which  Shakespeare  in  general,  although 
with  some  exceptions,  adheres.  The  workings  of  conscience  in  her  case  are  magical 
and  demoniacal,  and  not  psychologically  conceivable.  Whether  or  not  we  conceive 
of  conscience  as  an  innate,  or  as  an  inculcated,  belief  in  the  absolute  obligation  of  cer- 
tain rules  in  human  life,  there  still  remains  a  something  in  the  consciousness,  a 
quality  or  a  force,  which  can  work  only  in  harmony  with  the  law  of  all  forces. 
Whenever,  then,  we  find  that  the  memory  of  a  criminal  act,  however  successful  and 
enduring  in  its  issues  it  may  have  been,  awakens  a  repentance  and  moral  detesta- 
tion so  consuming  that  for  no  single  instant  is  it  absent  from  the  mind  of  the  criminal, 
and  that  self-abhorrence  leads  to  insanity  and  suicide,  then  we  may  properly  assume 
for  such  a  character  a  susceptibility  to  moral  emotions  of  no  common  strength. 
Furthermore,  it  is  conceivable  that  with  such  a  susceptibility  there  may  coexist  a 
proneness  to  the  blackest  of  crimes ;  for  in  the  same  breast  passions  and  desires  of  a 
different  and  far  more  violent  nature  may  be  harboured ;  but  in  this  case  it  appears 
to  us  to  follow  of  necessity  that  we  must  be  made  to  see  how,  in  the  moment  of  a 
lawless  deed,  the  voice  of  conscience  is  drowned,  thrust  down  into  a  comer  of  the 
heart,  overwhelmed  by  the  tempest  of  stormy  passion.  But  that  ice-cold  reasoning 
with  which  Lady  Macbeth  enkindles  her  husband  to  the  most  horrible  of  crimes, 
and  sneers  at  the  promptings  of  his  conscience  as  though  they  were  despicable, 
womanish  weakness ;  the  barbarous  roughness  with  which  she  speaks  of  plucking 
her  nipple  from  the  boneless  gums  of  the  babe  smiling  in  her  face,  and  dashing 
its  brains  out ;  the  wild  strength  with  which,  after  the  deed,  she  encourages  Mac- 
beth and  spurs  him  on, — all  this  appears  to  us  unreconcileable  with  what  we  have 
laid  down.  It  is  not  till  late  that  the  Eumenides  enter  into  her,  and  like  Demons 
from  without,  whereas  the  poet  ought  to  have  shown  us  how  all  along  they  were 
lurking  in  ambush  at  the  bottom  of  her  heart,  and  how  the  violence  of  their  on- 
slaught can  be  calculated  by  the  long  and  powerful  pressure  to  which  the  nobler 
emotions  were  subjected. 

In  the  character  of  Macbeth,  wonderfully  and  strikingly  as  he  b  depicted,  we  miss 
something  also.  Before  he  falls  into  temptation  he  is  represented  by  the  poet  as  of 
a  noble  nature,  as  we  gather  not  only  from  his  own  deportment,  but  more  clearly 
from  the  esteem  in  which  he  is  held  by  the  king  and  others.  We  have  a  right  to 
expect  that  this  better  nature  would  reappear ;  after  his  glowing  ambition  had  attained 
its  end  he  ought  to  have  made  at  least  one  attempt,  or  manifested  the  desire,  to  wear 
41  2F 


482  APPENDIX. 

his  ill-gotten  crown  with  glory,  to  expiate  or  extenuate  his  crime  by  sovereign 
virtues.  We  could  then  be  made  to  see  that  it  by  no  means  follows  that  evil  must 
breed  evil,  and  that  Macbeth  must  wade  on  in  blood  in  order  not  to  fall.  But  from 
the  very  first  meeting  with  the  witches  Macbeth  appears  like  one  possessed  of  all  the 
devils  of  Hell,  and  rushes  so  like  a  madman  from  one  crime  to  another,  that  the 
nobler  impulses  of  former  days  never  for  one  moment  influence  him.  Here  too,  as 
frequently  elsewhere,  Shakespeare  exaggerates  the  contrast,  and  the  effect,  at  the 
expense  of  psychological  truth ;  for,  to  completely  subvert  the  fundamental  basis  of  a 
character  assuredly  partakes,  always  and  everywhere,  of  the  nature  of  untruth.  With- 
out the  idea  of  consistency  we  can  conceive  of  no  developement  either  in  nature  or 
man.  .  .  . 

And  yet  all  such  criticisms  cannot  keep  us  from  pronouncing  Shakespeare's  AfeiC' 
beth  the  mightiest  and  most  powerful  of  all  tragedies. 


PETRI. 

MORITZ  Petri,  Pastor  {Zur  Einfuhrung  Shakespeare^ s  in  die  christliche  Familie, 
Eine  Gabe  zundchst  far  Frauen  und  yungfrauen,  p.  38.  Hanover,  1868).  No 
poet  possesses  such  a  profound  knowledge  of  the  dark  side  of  human  life,  and  none 
has  laid  bare  its  depths  to  us  so  strikingly,  as  Shakespeare.  He  knows  how  the 
stealthy  tempter  invades  the  heart,  by  what  struggles  he  enters  in,  by  what  path  alone 
lies  salvation,  and  what  inward  and  outward  wretchedness  he  who  knows  not  how 
to  find  this  path  must  endure  until  be  perishes  under  the  sorrows  of  life;  and  all  the 
most  celebrated  and  greatest  of  Shakespeare's  dramas  bear  the  inscription  in  clear 
characters,  *  the  wages  of  sin  is  death.'  .  .  .  But  in  order  not  to  miss  the  key  to  the 
tragedy  of  Macbeth,  we  must,  first  of  all,  acknowledge  that  there  is  outside  the  world 
of  man  a  realm  of  demons  whose  dark,  secret  powers  seek  to  gain  an  influence  over 
human  souls,  and  do  gain  it,  except  so  far  as  they  are  op{x>sed ;  and  thus  it  happens 
that  this  Satanic  band  is  known  and  sought  after  by  man,  or  is  unknown  and  undc- 
sired,  and  its  influence  is  only  bewailed  without  the  sufierer's  having  the  strength  to 
withstand  its  power. 

This  definite  conception  and  recognition  of  a  spiritual  realm,  whose  influence  over 
human  souls  is  full  of  malignity,  woe  and  terror,  is  to  be  found  in  all  periods  of 
human  history,  and  in  all  stages  of  civilization.  Evident  traces  of  it  have  been  dis- 
covered among  the  ancient  Egyptians  at  the  time  of  the  Pharaohs.  It  runs  through 
the  system  of  Hindoo  philosophy,  again  emerges  in  the  world  of  antiquity,  and  is  to 
be  discerned  throughout  all  Germanic  heathendom,  and  reappears  in  the  Australian 
and  American  races.  It  would  be  passing  strange  if  this  primitive  and  universal 
belief  in  the  existence,  and  in  the  secret  influence,  of  an  evil,  spiritual  world  were  a 
mere  fancy,  as  modern  limes  would  fain  have  us  believe.  .  .  . 

In  a  word,  Shakespeare  is  penetrated  with  the  truth,  of  which  we  have  proofs 
over  and  over  again  in  the  Bible,  that  there  is  a  secret  world  of  evil  spirits  that  with 
Satanic  cunning  lie  in  wait  for  human  souls,  conquering  the  unguarded  heart  and 
rejoicing  in  hurling  their  victim  to  the  dust  in  the  misery  of  sin.  Under  this  weight 
of  demoniac  influences  lies  Macbeth  when  the  drama  opens,  however  much  he  may 
stniggle  against  it.  .  .  . 

There  are  two  points  which  Shakespeare  especially  emphasizes  for  us  in  the  cha- 
racter of  Macbeth.     Before  the  deed  we  mark  the  insidious  approach  of  the  tempter. 


V,  FRIESEN.  483 

and  the  terrible  conflict  with  the  powers  of  darkness,  and  then  after  the  deed  the 
strength  of  an  evil,  unappeased  conscience,  which  in  the  struggle  to  assure  and  to 
protect  itself,  advances  from  one  ill  deed  to  another  until  the  edifice  of  bloody  crimes 
topples  headlong  with  a  crash.  If  we  follow  up  these  two  phases  of  the  drama,  we 
clearly  enough  perceive  that  Macbeth  had  for  a  long  time  fostered  his  ambition  with 
the  thought  of  his  possible  possession  of  the  throne,  although  the  bloody  path  to  it 
may  have  seemed  to  him  far  distant.  Moreover,  a  heavy  dream*  of  the  murder  of 
the  king  had  lately  caused  him  much  anxiety.  .  .  . 

In  the  first  scene  of  the  last  act  Shakespeare  shows  us  how  heavy  is  the  weight 
of  an  unexpiated  crime,  and  what  a  failure  follows  every  human  soul  who  enters 
into  an  alliance  with  the  powers  of  darkness.  Lady  Macbeth  seemed  to  be  so 
steeled  against  all  assaults  of  an  evil  conscience,  and  seemed  to  wield  so  complete  a 
power  over  herself  and  her  bad  actions,  that  she  might  have  bid  defiance  to  all 
Hell.  But  over  against  all  her  attempts  of  a  proportionate  power  in  evil-doing 
stands  the  saying  of  the  Apostle  in  its  full  force :  *  Be  not  deceived ;  God  is  not 
mocked.* 


V.  FRIESEN. 

H.  Freiherr  v.  Friesen  {Jahrbuch  der  deutschen  Shakespeare- Geselhchaft,'^, 
224,  1869).  Whether,  as  Mrs  Siddons  thought,  Lady  Macbeth,  according  to  her 
Celtic  nature,  is  to  be  conceived  of  as  a  blonde,  or,  as  others  have  been  inclined 
to  think,  as  slender  and  graceful,  appears  to  me  of  little  importance;  I  have  repeat- 
edly found  that  when  the  part  is  well  performed,  one  is  indifferent  to  much  in  the 
personal  appearance  of  the  performer.  Only  I  cannot  imagine  either  Macbeth  or 
Lady  Macbeth  as  at  all  advanced  in  age.  That  he  himself  has  not  yet  entered  upon 
full  manhood  is  evident  from  many  particulars  in  his  rOle.  But,  above  all  things,  I 
consider  the  wonderful  interest,  which  the  whole  man  inspires,  not  at  all  in  accord- 
ance with  a  ripe  age,  although  there  is  nothing  less  likely  than  the  idea  that  he  was 
a  youth.  But  if  Macbeth  stands,  as  I  suppose,  at  that  period  of  life  when  the  sudden 
outbreak  of  the  most  violent  and  dangerous  passions  is  most  probable,  then  Lady 
Macbeth  may  be  naturally  regarded  as  having  not  yet  reached  the  position  of  a 
matron ;  and  I  am  confident  that  the  earlier  custom  of  playing  this  part  rather  in  the 
style  of  a  lady  in  the  meridian  of  life  has  contributed  not  a  little  to  establish  the 
too  hard  opinion,  in  comparison  with  which  the  representation  of  Lady  Macbeth 
in  a  more  youthful  and  fiery  manner  is  much  more  advantageous  to  the  effect  of  the 
whole  drama.  .  .  . 

In  order  to  be  still  more  fully  convinced  how  senseless  the  plot  to  murder  the 
king  was,  we  must  bear  in  mind  that  from  the  moment  when  Duncan  named 
his  oldest  son,  Malcolm,  Prince  of  Cumberland,  Macbeth  was  greatly  embittered,  as 
that  was  an  obstacle  between  him  and  his  aim.  Why  does  he  not  think,  when  in 
consultation  with  Lady  Macbeth,  that  he  cannot  reckon  unconditionally  upon  becom- 
ing king  at  Duncan's  death  ?  Schiller  appears  to  have  perceived  the  difficulty,  for 
when  Lady  Macbeth  swears  that  she  could  kill  her  suckling,  he  inserts  fifteen  lines, 
in  the  first  five  of  which  he  makes  Macbeth  bring  forward  this  obstacle,  and  then 

*  Our  excellent  Pastor  is  here  misled  by  Tieck's  translation,  who  renders  '  My  thought  whose 
murder  yet  is  but  fantastical '  by  '  Mein  iraum,  dess  Mord  nur  noch  ein  Himgespinst.'  Ed. 


484  APPENDIX, 

Lady  Macbeth,  referring  to  the  unwillingness  of  the  proud  Thanes  to  be  «  subject  to 
a  weak  boy,'  presents  a  picture  of  the  future,  in  which  Macbeth  must  be  king.  I  do 
not  for  a  moment  doubt  that  Shakespeare  conceived  of  Macbeth  and  Lady  Macbeth 
as  so  drunk  with  passion  that  neither  was  capable  of  appreciating  this  obstacle. 
Certainly  the  whole  picture  of  their  mental  state  is  impaired  by  ascribing  to  them 
any  additional  degree  of  circumspection.  Indeed,  I  am  disposed  to  believe  tbat  this 
interpolation  of  Schiller's,  as  it  was  manifestly  suggested  by  a  misunderstanding  of 
the  whole  situation,  and  especially  of  the  character  of  Lady  Macbeth,  has  actually 
perpetuated  the  prevailing  misconception  of  this  point. 

But  perhaps  my  idea  is  a  groundless  one  that  both  Macbeth  and  Lady  Macbeth 
were  thus  bereft  of  all  self-possession,  and  of  course  that  their  plot  was  thoughtlessly 
devised  ?     Or  was  it  not  heedless  to  rashness  in  Lady  Macbeth,  as  we  learn  from  her 
own  words,  to  steal  through  the  chambers  of  the  castle  to  place  the  daggers  of  the 
grooms  for  her  husband,  to  look  at  the  sleeping  king,  and  at  a  moment  too  when 
there  were  persons  still  awake  in  the  castle  ?  for  so  it  must  have  been,  as  Banquo 
still  kept  watch,  conversing  with  Macbeth.     Is  this  the  way  in  which  a  woman  of  a 
deliberate,  circumspect  character  would  act  ?     Mrs  Jameson  has  portrayed  the  cha- 
racter of  Lady  Macbeth  with  exhaustive  power,  but  I  am  free  to  confess  that  I  can- 
not agree  with  her  in  giving  Lady  Macbeth  credit  for  an  uncommon  degree  of  intel- 
ligence.    I  see  rather  in  this  rashness  only  a  passionate  power  in  executing  a  fixed 
purpose,  which,  as  is  shown  in  numberless  cases,  sometimes  lends  to  women,  cor- 
poreally weak  as  they  are,  an  heroic  indifference  to  danger,  because  the  self-posses- 
sion to  meet  danger  is  wholly  denied  them.     It  is  here  still  further  to  be  considered 
that  the  execution  of  the  murderous  plot  is  compressed  into  the  briefest  space  of 
time.     If  Macduff  had  knocked  a  few  minutes  earlier  at  the  gate  of  the  castle, 
either  the  accomplishment  of  the  murder  would   have  been   impossible,   or  the 
pair  would   have  be6n  discovered   as   the   murderers.      How   imprudent,   finally, 
was  the  concerted  signal  with  the  bell !      It  seems  as  if  the  poet  aimed   espe- 
cially to  direct  our  attention  to  that,  since  he  puts  in  the  mouth  of  Macbeth  the 
words,  *  Hear  it  not,  Duncan,  for  it  is  the  knell  That  summons  thee  to  heaven  or 
to  hell.' 

As  has  been  intimated  above,  the  confession  of  Lady  Macbeth  that  she  could  not 
murder  the  king  with  her  own  hand  because  in  his  sleep  he  resembled  her  faflier,  is, 
according  to  my  idea  of  her,  a  proof  that  the  strength  of  will  on  which  she  relied  in 
her  first  conversation  with  her  husband  was  by  no  means  so  entirely  at  her  disposal 
as  she  imagined.  She  enters  trembling,  convulsed  with  the  most  terrible  anj^uish  ; 
she  starts  at  eveiy  noise,  and  even  her  first  words,  '  That  which  halh  made  them 
drunk  hath  m'ade  me  bold  :  What  halh  quenched  them  hath  given  me  fire,'  are 
not  justified  by  her  behavior.  I  am  convinced  that  this  expression  has  no  other 
aim  than  to  let  us  know  that  she  is  not  what  she  imagines  herself  to  be.  ^^^ly, 
otherwise,  is  she  immediately  afterwards  startled  at  the  cry  of  the  owl  ?  .   .   . 

At  the  beginning  of  the  scene  she  is  so  deeply  sunk  in  thought  that  she  is  scarcely 
able  to  utter  a  welcome  to  the  guests,  and  when,  during  Macbeth's  agitation  and 
the  surprise  of  the  guests,  she  again  finds  her  speech,  I  can  discover  in  what  she 
says  nothing  more  than  a  wild  agony  that  catches  at  the  most  incredible  stories  in 
order  to  anticipate  the  dreaded  interpretation  of  Macbeth's  behavior.  And  then, 
when  she  descends  to  her  husband,  her  words  may  appear  at  first  sight  hard  and  up- 
braiding, but  they  admit  of  being  uttered  in  no  tone  of  passionate  reproach.  Rpther 
must  the  heavy  agony  which  she  is  suffering  everywhere  break  through.      Had  she 


GERICKE.  485 

been  of  a  cautious,  cold-blooded  temper,  she  certainly  would  not  have  recalled  the  most 
frightful  particulars  of  the  past  in  the  words,  *  This  is  the  very  painting  of  your  fear : 
This  is  the  air-drawn  dagger,  which  you  said  Led  you  to  Duncan.'  At  this  moment 
she  could  not  easily  have  said  anything  more  abhorrent,  and  these  words  she  utters 
almost  involuntarily  because  that  night  hovers  constantly  before  her  memory.  Had 
she  really  been  resolved  to  lord  it  over  her  husband,  why  is  she  silent  the  moment 
that  she  is  alone  with  him  ?  .  .  . 

But  this  is  certain,  that  Shakespeare  in  the  part  of  Lady  Macbeth,  as  in  all  his 
parts,  actually  relied  upon  the  young  actor  to  whom  the  part  might  be  assigned 
to  carry  out  and  complete  the  representation ;  and  therefore  at  the  present  day  it  be- 
comes the  special  duty  of  the  actress  in  this  part  nut  in  tone,  look,  or  gesture  to  ag- 
gravate the  abhorrence  which  might  thus  be  excited,  but  to  alleviate  it,  so  that  to  in* 
telligent  spectators  will  be  presented  not  the  picture  of  a  Northern  Fury,  nor  of  a  mon- 
ster, still  less  of  a  heroine  or  martyr  to  conjugal  love,  but  that  of  a  woman  capable 
of  the  greatest  elevation,  but  seized  mysteriously  by  the  magic  of  Passion,  only  to 
fall  the  more  terribly,  and  thus,  in  spite  of  our  horror  at  her  crime,  wringing  from 
us  our  deepest  sympathy. 

i^Das  Buck  :  Shakspere  von  Gervinus,  Ein  Wort  Uber  dasselbe,  p.  80.  Leipzig, 
1869.)  It  is  this  belief  in  a  freedom  of  will,  a  freedom  as  enduring  as  life  (far  re- 
moved from  a  gloomy  scheme  of  predestination),  which  in  Shakespeare's  dramas 
forms  the  elements  of  poesie.  Everything  like  caprice  in  the  arrangement  of  his  in- 
cidents is  avoided  by  Shakespeare.  He  takes  the  greatest  pains  to  provide,  un- 
abridged up  to  the  last  moment,  a  certain  freedom  of  will  for  all  his  characters,  who, 
while  following  the  path  of  their  tragic  fate,  are  doomed  to  destruction.  None  of 
his  tragic  heroes  are  so  entangled,  up  to  their  last  minute,  by  fate,  accident  or  in- 
trigue, that  no  salvation  remains  to  them.  Even  in  those  very  dramas  where  he 
deals  the  freest  with  Destiny,  or  where  he  purposely  weaves  a  net  of  intrigue,  there 
always  remains  a  gleam  of  salvation  up  to  the  last  moment  before  utter  darkness  of 
soul  makes  sure  the  tragic  end.  This  is  most  noteworthy  in  Macbeth.  The  com- 
pletion of  the  fearful  crime  hangs  in  abeyance  up  to  that  last  instant  when  Macbeth 
is  alarmed  by  some  noise,  and  rushes  forth  again,  in  doubt,  from  Duncan's  chamber ; 
and  even  when  he  and  Lady  Macbeth  are  plunging  into  the  fearful  abyss  of  crime 
the  light  of  grace  and  mercy  ceases  not  to  shine.  It  would  be  superfluous  here  to 
seek  for  theoretical  proofs  of  this,  for  without  such  an  antecedent  all  that  terrible 
struggle  between  bitter  defiance  and  longings  for  repentance,  which  so  wrings  our 
soul  in  the  subsequent  scenes,  would  be  meaningless  or  at  least  un-tragic. 


GERICKE. 

In  the  yahrbuch  der  Detitschen  Shakespeare- Geselbchaft  for  1870,  vol.  vi,  p.  19- 
82,  Mr  Gericke  has  a  long  essay,  in  which  he  states  the  fact  that  while  Macbeth  is 
undoubtedly  one  of  the  grandest  and  most  attractive  of  Shakespeare's  tragedies  for 
the  closet,  yet  for  the  stage  it  is  one  of  the  least  popular,  and  has  never  had  a  success- 
ful run  at  any  German  theatre  (except  at  Meiningen  under  Bodenstedt's  super- 
vision), and  he  endeavors  to  explain  this  lack  of  popular  appreciation  by  the  defects 
of  the  mise  en  seine,  by  the  rapid  movement  of  the  number  of  short  scenes  (which  he 
suggests  should  be  smoothed  over  by  the  aid  of  music),  and  by  the  neglect  on  the 


486  APPENDIX, 

part  of  stage-managers  to  attend,  with  the  utmost  artistic  nicety,  to  the  decoration.s. 
Many  of  Mr  Gericke's  suggestions  are  ingenious,  but  are  hardly  appropriate  in 
a  volume  designed  for  a  public  with  whom  this  tragedy  has  always  been,  on  the 
stage,  one  of  the  most  popular  of  Shakespeare's  dramas.  All  of  Mr  Gericke's  re- 
marks which  tend  to  elucidate  the  aesthetic  meaning  of  the  text  will  be  found  at  their 
appropriate  places.  His  stage  directions  at  the  beginning  of  Act  II  are  hardly  more 
than  a  modification  of  CapelPs. 


LEO. 

F.  A.  Leo  {Macbeth^  Udersetzf,  eingeleitei  und  erlduteri,  Shakespeare*s  Werke, 
herausgegeben  durch  die  Deutsche  Shakespeare-Gesellschaft,  vol.  xii,  p.  1 74.  Berlin, 
1 871).  We  exhaust  all  the  sensational  epithets  at  our  command  in  painting  in  bright 
colors  the  terrible,  tigerish  nature  of  Lady  Macbeth.  She  has  been  styled  the  intel- 
lectual originator  of  the  murder ;  the  evil  spirit  goading  her  husband  to  the  crime — 
and,  after  all,  she  is  nothing  of  the  kind;  she  is  of  a  proud,  ardent  nature,  a  brave, 
consistent,  loving  woman,  that  derives  her  courageous  consistency  from  the  depths 
of  her  affection,  and  after  the  first  step  in  crime,  sinks  under  the  burden  of  guilt 
heaped  upon  her  soul.  .  .  . 

She  is  a  proud,  a  loving  wife,  absorbed  in  her  husband*s  life  and  pursuits,  eager 
to  sacrifice  herself  utterly  for  the  furtherance  of  his  ambition  and  for  the  increase  of 
his  greatness.  And  it  is  clear  from  her  apostrophe,  *  Come,  ye  spirits,*  &c.,  that  she 
acts  in  entire  consciousness  that  the  path  over  which  she  is  about  to  stagger  at  her 
husband's  side  will  lead  her  farther  and  farther  astray  from  the  peaceful  pastures 
of  a  pure  conscience.  .  .  . 

If  I  have  succeeded  in  portraying  Lady  Macbeth  such  as  /  imagine  her,  she  will 
be  seen  to  be  a  passionate,  great-hearted,  heroic  woman,  a  victim  to  her  own  affec- 
tion ;  and  that  affection  squandered  upon  an  ambitious,  vacillating  and  bloodthirsty 
man.  How  much  inferior  is  his  love  to  hers  is  evident  from  his  cruel  words,  *  She 
should  have  died  hereafter  !* 

But  he  lives  and  rages  on,  like  a  Berserker  of  old,  destroying  in  his  tyrannous  hate 
whatsoever  stands  in  his  path.  In  view  of  all  the  circumstances,  the  conclusion 
to  which  we  come  may  be  expressed,  in  my  opinion,  in  the  following,  perhaps  rather 
commonplace  summary;  Macbeth's  is  a  nature  predestined  to  murder,  not  needing 
the  influence  of  his  wife  to  direct  him  to  the  path  of  crime,  along  which  at  first  she 
leads  him.  The  wife,  on  the  other  hand,  at  the  side  of  a  noble,  honourable  hus- 
band always  faithful  to  the  right,  would  have  been  a  pure  and  innocent  woman, 
diffusing  happiness  around  her  domestic  circle,  in  spite  of  some  asperities  in  her 
temper. 


CHASLES. 


PHlLARfeTE  CllASLES  (£tudes  sur  IV.  Shakespeare^  &c.,  p.  219.  Paris,  185 1).  One 
admirable  trait  in  Shakespeare  is  that,  whil^  scarcely  permitting  us  to  perceive  the 
supernatural  beings  which  he  introduces  into  his  plays,  he  never  employs  them  as  pa.« 


\ 


LACROIX.  '    487 

sivc  agents,  mere  secondary  and  useful  resources.  The  generality  of  authors,  when 
wielding  the  sceptre  of  magic,  assert  the  independence  of  nonsense  and  the  abuse  of 
a  vast  power.  In  their  hands,  apparitions  are  no  more  than  scene-shiftsrs,  whose 
province  is  to  amuse  the  audience  by  the  display  of  unexpected  terrors.  But  as  soon 
as  the  supernatural  world  appears  in  the  works  of  the  great  poet,  it  is,  on  the  con- 
trary, in  order  to  sway  the  destiny  of  unfortunate  mortals  and  hov^  over  the  whole 
work.  Thus  jn  Macbeth  the  main  spring  of  the  action  is  the  witches.  In  their 
caverns,  amid  their  dances  to  the  accompaniment  of  thunder,  are  plotted  the 
bloody  revolutions  of  Scotland.  Everything  in  these  two  dramas  of  Hamlet  and 
Macbeth  is  prepared  from  the  very  core.  If  Hamlet,  by  reason  of  his  metaphysical 
tendency,  approaches  more  nearly  to  the  mystic  and  dreamy  st}'le  of  the  German 
school,  Macbeth  has  more  affinity  than  any  other  of  Shakespeare's  works  with  the  an- 
cient scheme  of  fatalism.  Profoundly  sad  are  these  works,  where  Destiny  is  revealed 
in  all  its  rigor,  where  the  happiness  and  the  virtue  of  man,  nay,  even  the  strength  of 
his  intellect,  betray  their  mournful  weakness ;  and  although  marvellous  creations  ap- 
pear, phantoms  summoned  from  the  bosom  of  the  future,  and  spectres  driven  forth 
from  the  realms  of  the  dead,  yet  are  they  not  fantastic  dramas,  they  are  tragedies, 
serious  and  sublime. 

On  the  other  hand,  a  large  number  of  Shakespeare's  dramas,  wherein  neither 
angels,  ghosts  nor  evil  spirits  appear,  are  genuine  caprices  or  fantastic,  bizarre  tales. 
Designated,  it  is  none  too  easy  to  tell  why,  under  the  ridiculous  title  of  comedies, 
these  works  are,  after  all,  only  romanesque  novels,  controlled  by  the  laws  of  the  drama, 
and  rarely  by  those  of  probability.  In  order  to  understand  them,  we  must  lay  aside  the 
memories  of  Greece  and  of  Rome.  It  is  to  the  literature  of  Christian  Europe  from 
the  twelfth  to  the  sixteenth  century  that  these  dramas  belong.  Their  scope  is  a 
game  of  chance,  a  painful  struggle  of  man  against  his  own  caprices,  and  the  infinite 
variety  of  events  and  contrasts  which  control  human  destiny.  Shakespeare  did  not 
create  this  scope  ;  he  found  it  already  in  the  literature  and  traditions  of  the  Middle 
Ages. 

LACROIX. 

Albert  Lacroix  (Histoire  de  I* Influence  de  Shakespeare  surle  ThiAtre  FranfaiSy 
p.  180,  Bruxelles,  1856).  If  we  pass  on  now  to  Macbeth,  which  followed  in  1784, 
a  year  only  after  the  imitation  of  King  Lear,  we  cannot  avoid  passing  a  much 
severer  judgment  upon  Ducis. 

After  reading  his  tragedy  we  ask  in  astonishment  what  such  a  work  can  mean  ? 
It  is  but  a  succession  of  tableaux,  a  collection  of  scenes  more  or  less  dramatic,  and 
we  seek  in  vain  for  a  dominant  idea  or  for  character.  It  is  so  cold,  empty  and  dis- 
jointed  that,  in  spite  of  the  efforts  to  produce  tragic  effects,  we  remain  unmoved. 
The  weakness  of  Ducis  is  evident ;  his  feebleness  is  apparent  in  spite  of  all  the  re- 
sources his  original  presented. 

Shall  we  reveal  the  sole  aim  of  Ducis  ?  We  need  only  turn  to  the  notice  at  the 
beginning  of  the  piece :  '  I  have  tried  to  bear  the  audience  to  the  utmost  limits  of 
tragic  terror  by  artfully  interspersing  what  would  enable  them  to  endure  it,* 

We  purposely  italicise  these  characteristic  words.  The  art  employed  consisted  in 
*  expunging  from  Shakespeare  everything  that  did  not  exactly  suit  Ducis,  or  that  he 
found  unfit  for  the  proprieties  of  the  French  stage ;  and,  still  further,  and  mainly,  in 
adding  to  the  matter.     *  The  reader  will  perceive  what  belongs  to  me.*    With  what 


488 


APPENDIX. 


naive  honesty  does  poor  Duels  attempt  to  reclaim  his  own  in  this  tragedy !  The 
pretension  forsooth  is  no  less  bold  than  strange.  To  add  to  the  creations  of  Shake- 
speare, and  boast  of  it  withal !  He  had  far  better,  on  the  contrary,  have  retained 
these  same  *  considerable  excisions*  which  he  ventured  to  make.  And,  after  having 
thus  mutilated  Shakespeare,  how  could  he  exdaim  in  the  same  preface,  that  he  was 
himself  *  the  oflr4>ring  of  the  English  poet  *  ? 

The  whole  tragedy,  in  Ducis,  turns  solely  upon  the  murder  of  Duncan  by  Macbeth 
and  his  wife ;  the  ambition  of  the  murderer  attains  its  aim ;  but  the  son  of  Duncan 
has  been  educated,  under  an  assumed  name,  by  a  Highlander,  who  comes  to  claim 
the  throne  for  the  young  prince ;  and  Macbeth,  Macbeth  the  assassin,  Macbeth  the 
ambitious,  rushes,  like  a  child  or  like  a  fool,  to  offer  him  this  throne  which  he 
had  acquired  by  crime ;  he  avows  his  treason  and  kills  himself ;  there  is  nothing 
but  cowardice  in  the  fellow.  .  .  . 

It  is  superfluous  to  repeat  that  Ducis  has  reproduced  no  single  genuine  or  lofty 
trait  of  Macbeth's ;  he  weakened  what  appeared  to  him  too  bold.  Thus  the  appearance 
of  the  witches  to  Macbeth,  suppressed  during  the  course  of  the  action,  is  narrated 
only ;  and  when,  by  way  of  variety,  Ducis  shows  us  *  three  sorceresses,*  he  omits  the 
predictions  they  address  to  the  hero.  They  repeat  six  verses  and  disappear,  and  the 
author,  not  perceiving  that  they  are  intended  to  be  of  vital  importance  to  the  piece, 
by  representing  the  fatality  which  allures  and  impels  Macbeth,  and  that,  as  such, 
they  control  the  drama,  has  but  one  purpose  in  allowing  us  a  glimpse  of  them, 
namely,  to  compose  a '  scene  which  may  perchance  serve  to  augment  the  terror  of  the 
plot.* 

MfeZlfeRES. 

A.  M£zi^.RES  {Shakespeare,  ses  (Euvres  et  ses  Critiques,  p.  302,  Paris,  i860).  All 
these  events,  happening  within  the  space  of  seventeen  years,  are  compressed  in 
Shakespeare's  play  into  the  narrow  limits  of  the  drama.  He  represents  to  us  the 
three  successive  stages  in  the  life  of  Macbeth, — his  crime,  his  prosperity,  and  ""his 
punishment.  What  the  Greeks  would  have  developed  in  a  trilogy,  as  in  Ores/es,  for 
example,  to  which  Macbeth  has  been  more  than  once  compared,  is  here  confined  to 
a  single  drama.  We  need  be  in  nowise  surprised  at  the  multiplicity  of  events  un- 
folded in  this  play,  knowing  the  freedom  of  the  English  dramatists  in  this  respect. 
Yet  can  we  find  in  it  no  element  foreign  to  the  action.  Every  circumstance  con- 
tributes towards  the  denoiintent ;  and  we  cannot  fail  to  admire  the  powerful  art  with 
which  Shakespeare  has  maintained  the  unity  amid  the  numberless  catastrophes  of 
the  piece. 

This  unity  results  from  the  developement  of  a  single  character.  Macbeth  fills  the 
play.  Everything  refers  to  him.  Present  or  absent,  he  never  ceases  to  occupy  our 
attention,  and  nothing  happens  that  does  not  bear  upon  his  destiny.  W^en  the 
Scottish  lords  discuss  the  unfortunate  condition  of  their  country,  Macbeth  is  the  sub- 
ject of  their  discourse,  and  it  is  to  him,  without  naming  him,  that  they  attribute  all 
their  woes.  WHien  the  assassins  present  themselves  at  the  castle  of  Macduff  to 
murder  his  children,  it  is  Macbeth  who  has  sent  them.  When  the  witches  assemble 
on  the  heath,  it  is  to  breathe  their  cruel  thoughts  into  the  soul  of  Macbeth.  When 
Hecate  appears  among  them,  to  hasten  the  work  of  crime,  it  is  to  lure  Macbeth  to 
his  destruction.  This  character  binds  in  one  all  portions  of  the  drama.  If  we  seek 
for  unity,  not  in  the  developement  of  a  single  event,  but  in  the  complete  representa- 


m^ziMres.  489 

tion  of  the  feelings  and  of  the  actions  of  one  person,  we  shall  find  that  Shakespeare 
has  observed  it  in  no  other  play  more  closely  than  in  this.  Wherefore,  many  critics 
consider  Macbeth  as  his  chef-cTctuvre, 

It  is,  in  fact,  a  powerful  psychological  study.  Shakespeare  depicts  a  state  of 
mind  not  only  novel,  but  highly  dramatic.  He  has  given  us  hardened  villains,  be- 
fore, in  his  other  pieces.  But  here  he  unveils  the  process  by  which  the  thought  of 
crime  penetrates  a  virtuous  soul,  the  destruction  it  causes  as  soon  as  it  gains  lodge- 
ment there,  and  to  what  extremities  it  drags  him  who  has  not  had  strength  enough 
to  repel  it  on  its  first  appearance.  Macbeth  is  not  wicked  like  lago,  or  Edmund  in 
Lear,  He  even  begins  well.  He  has  defended  his  country  and  his  king  most  zeal- 
ously, and  covered  himself  with  glory  on  two  battle-fields.  His  comrades  in  arms 
accord  him  ungrudging  praise,  and  Duncan  knows  not  how  to  recompense  his  deserts. 
But  this  brave  soldier  bears  within  him  the  germ  of  ambition ;  and,  without  as  yet 
knowing  the  height  of  his  aspirations,  without  even  defining  to  himself  hb  vague 
desires,  he  awakes  to  a  simultaneous  consciousness  of  his  own  power  and  the  tempta- 
tion to  make  trial  of  it. 

This  temptation  assails  him  under  a  supernatural  guise.  Shakespeare,  who  deals 
with  questions  of  morality  like  a  poet,  casts  into  a  poetic  mould  these  ambitious 
yearnings  of  Macbeth.  The  effect  produced  on  him  by  the  witches  arises  less  from 
their  real  power  than  from  his  state  of  mind.  When  they  salute  him  as  Thane  of 
Cawdor  and  promise  him  the  title  of  king,  they  respond  to  his  secret  preoccupation. 
From  that  moment  there  is  no  more  repose  for  him.  The  apparitions  revealed  to 
him  what  was  passing  in  his  mind,  and  clearly  defined  the  vague  hope  concealed  in 
the  darkest  recess  of  his  thoughts.  No  sooner  is  the  prophecy  uttered  than  Mac 
beth  becomes  a  criminal;  he  has  no  strength  to  repel  temptation.  His  crime 
is  personal  and  voluntary;  the  meeting  with  the  weird  sisters  is  only  the  occa- 
sion of  it,  and  not  the  cause.  The  poet  discloses  to  us,  in  reality,  that  the  influence 
which  the  witches  exert  depends  upon  the  character  of  those  whom  they  accost. 
While  they  fill  the  soul  of  Macbeth  with  uneasiness,  because  he  is  naturally  inclined 
to  ambition,  they  leave  unruffled  the  serenity  of  Banquo,  although  they  announce  to 
him  that  his  children  are  to  wear  the  crown.  Their  influence  extends  only  to  minds 
predisposed  to  corruption.  They  represent  the  physical  image  of  temptation,  influ- 
encing some  minds  and  leaving  untarnished  the  virtue  of  others.  Their  interview 
with  Macbeth  provokes  the  outbreak  of  his  criminal  desires.  It  is  the  prelude  to 
the  tragedy.  .  .  . 

We  find  exemplified  in  every  tragedy  of  Shakespeare  some  dominant  passion, 
whose  workings  the  poet  depicts,  and  from  which  he  deduces  a  moral  lesson.  Here 
he  has  painted  Ambition,  laying  the  strongest  colors  on  the  canvas.  Macbeth  is  the 
type  of  Ambition,  just  as  he  has  made  Othello  the  ty|>e  of  Jealousy.  Had  he 
been  better  acquainted  with  the  Greeks,  or  had  he  needed  to  imitate  any  model 
to  express  energetic  sentiments,  we  might  be  tempted  to  say  that  this  piece  was  in- 
spired by  the  strong  soul  of  i^chylus.  Its  characters  are  as  rude,  its  manners  as 
barbarous,  its  style  is  as  vigorous  and  full  of  poetry,  as  in  the  old  Grecian  tragedies. 
There  is  no  trace  of  the  artificial  rhetoric  which  disfigures  Romeo  and  yuliet.  In 
the  space  of  nine  years,  from  1596  to  1605,  the  possible  date  of  Macbeth^  the  poet 
threw  aside  that  false  style  and  rose  to  the  noblest  conceptions  of  art. 

The  use  he  makes  of  the  Supernatural  is  a  proof  of  the  new  force  of  his  genius. 
Dramatic  action  must  be  regarded  from  a  lofty  point  of  view  before  we  can  dare 
mingle  with  it  an  epic  element  rarely  found  disconnected  from  mythical  subjects. 


49^  APPENDIX. 

Not  to  lose  sight  of  this  work-a-day  world,  to  keep  up,  as  is  the  duty  of  the  drama- 
tist, the  rOle  of  observer,  and  all  the  while  to  pierce  with  the  eyes  of  the  imagination 
the  darkness  that  shrouds  the  invisible  world,  to  bring  into  play  the  most  trenchant 
logic  even  while  accepting  all  the  absurdities  of  popular  fictions ;  such  are  the  diffi- 
culties that  encountered  Shakespeare,  and  over  which  he  rose  triumphant  when  he 
summoned  into  being  the  Witches  of  Macbeth.  A  few  years  earlier  he  would  have 
shrunk  from  the  task. 

He  reconciles  dramatic  poetry  here  with  epic  by  connecting  the  supernatural  ele- 
ment with  the  moral  aim  of  the  piece.  We  have  already  remarked  that  the 
witches  are  in  perfect  harmony  with  the  character  of  Macbeth.  They  wield  no 
influence  over  him  in  opposition  to  his  will ;  on  the  contrary,  they  only  flatter  his 
instincts  and  embody  the  mental  temptation  that  possesses  him.  They  never  exer- 
cise the  irresistible  influence  of  ancient  fatalism,  which  forces  even  the  innocent  to 
become  criminal ;  they  impel  to  crime  him  only  who  is  already  inclined  to  it.  They 
never  represent  a  blind  fatality,  but  the  fate  that  we  mould  for  ourselves  by  our  own 
actions.  When  Macbeth  listens  to  them,  it  is  the  voice,  not  of  strangers,  but  of  his 
own  ambition,  which  speaks.  .  .  . 

If  the  contemporaries  of  Shakespeare  believed  in  witches,  they  also  believed  in 
spectres,  and  ghosts  permitted  to  quit  their  abode  of  darkness  to  revisit  this  upper 
world.  But  the  poet  introduces  spirits  of  a  diflerent  sort  in  Hamlet ^  and  Macbeth^ 
when  he  resuscitates  Banquo,  and  the  king  of  Denmark.  Are  we  to  believe,  as  has 
been  asserted,  that  these  shadows  are  mere  phantoms  of  the  brain,  appearing  only  to 
men  of  vivid  imagination  ?  Undoubtedly  Banquo  shows  himself  only  to  Macbeth, 
and  remains  invisible  to  the  guests  at  table;  and  Gertrude  does  not  see  the  spirit  of 
her  dead  husband  at  the  moment  he  is  visible  to  their  son.  But  the  king's  ghost 
walked  in  sight  of  the  sentries  on  the  ramparts  of  Elsinore,  before  accosting  Hamlet. 
So  far  is  it  from  the  poet's  intention  to  leave  in  the  vague  realm  of  dreams  the  phan- 
toms he  evokes  that  he  is  careful  to  clothe  them  with  garments  and  with  all  the 
external  peculiarities  of  life;  he  gives  gashes  to  one,  and  to  the  other  his  very 
armor,  his  sable-silvered  beard,  his  majesty  and  measured  speech.  Herein  lies  the 
originality  of  these  apparitions.  Possessing  in  truth  only  a  conventional  existence, 
the  magic  wand  of  the  poet  that  invoked  them  has  bestowed  on  them  an  appearance 
of  living  reality.  They  play  the  same  part  that  the  traditional  dream  filled  in  our 
classic  tragedy,  but  they  play  it  with  all  the  advantage  of  action  over  recital. 
Instead,  like  Athalie,  of  beholding  an  imaginary  vision,  Macbeth  and  Hamlet  see 
with  their  bodily  eyes,  the  one  his  victims,  the  other  his  father,  and  these  ghosts  act 
more  powerfully  upon  them  than  any  mere  dream  possibly  could.  Shakespeare,  far 
bolder  than  our  poets,  brings  before  the  veiy  eyes  of  the  spectator  those  supernatural 
figures  which  our  stage  contents  itself  with  depicting  only  to  the  fancy,  without  pro- 
ducing them  to  the  sight.  .  .  . 

But,  however  diversely  the  character  of  Lady  Macbeth  has  been  treated  on  the 
stage,  no  English  actress  has  ever  conceived  the  idea  of  representing  her  as  the 
virtuous  heroine  that  the  romantic  Germans  have  pronounced  her, — cruel  from  love  for 
her  husband  and  devotion  to  the  glory  of  her  house.  This  is  one  of  those  bizarre 
ideas  l)orn  of  the  theory  of  art  for  the  sake  of  art;  and  of  the  confusion  of  the  fair 
and  the  foul,  of  the  good  and  the  bad,  which  excited  the  wrath  of  Goethe  against  the 
critics  of  his  country.